


Sometimes, If You Look

by Sootface



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Demons, Gen, Harry Needs a Hug, I am not kind to Seamus Finnegan, Spirits, Youkai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2020-10-24 09:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20703500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sootface/pseuds/Sootface
Summary: Sometimes, when you look over your shoulder, there's nothing behind you. Sometimes, when something brushes against your side, there’s nothing there to feel. Sometimes, when you hear someone laugh, there’s nothing there to make a sound.But sometimes something is there. Something is there.Or, in which Harry can see things no one else can and it changes things.





	1. There Was a One-Eyed Demon

It was a murky, hot day of summer that found Harry Potter sprinting along the sidewalk of Privet Drive. His worn trainers pounded the ground and his breath came in deep gasps, glasses sliding precariously down his nose. His unnaturally green eyes were wide with fright, but he didn’t look back.

He was a pale, skinny boy with wild black hair. There was no breeze that day, only the force of the boy’s forward motion pushing his damp curls up off his forehead and exposing a jagged, lightning shaped scar. His baggy clothes, bought for another, billowed behind him as if trying to drag him backward.

Mrs. Figg glanced out her sitting room window that day, sipping her tea and lightly petting a large, unhappy-looking white cat that sprawled across her lap. She sighed as she watched Harry run by, terror coloring his face. She’d been living down the street for years, but the boy continued to be so very strange. He was constantly running up and down the street, flying through backyards and tearing up gardens. Just the other week he’d made a mess of Mrs. Figg’s prized geraniums. It looked like he’d taken a rake and torn them up when she’d found him sitting, shocked, dirty, and a bit sullen in her destroyed flower bed. She was very cross when she dragged him back to the Dursleys, and she’d made Petunia promise he would be back in the following week to plant fresh flowers. He’d been back the very next day, diligently cleaning up, and Mrs. Figg couldn’t help but wonder what had possessed the boy to do such a thing in the first place. 

She watched as his back grew smaller as he ran further down the street before he cut sharply between houses 12 and 13. She grimaced and sent a prayer their way, if only for the sake of their lovely daffodils. 

Harry, for his part, was flying between houses 12 and 13 with wild abandon, leaping the white fence of number 12 and flying through their yard. He thought he heard someone shout in surprise but he only continued, hopping the back section of the fence into the backyard of an unoccupied home on Sunderburry Lane. 

Behind him he heard another startled yelp as three flower pots tumbled from the plant stand at the corner of the garden. Harry knew he hadn’t touched them. 

His breathing was growing more and more ragged, although he was fairly used to hard running. He made his way toward the pavement, hooking a right through someone’s front yard and flying desperately toward the end of the street. 

_ “Lily! Lily give me my name!” _Came a high screech from behind him, a voice like rusted tin cans and dry air. Harry shuddered and doubled his pace, his heart beating in his ears. 

Sunderburry Lane intersected with Balding Avenue, and Harry’s green eyes alighted with hope on the small, white church that sat on the corner of the intersection. Its stained glass windows winked at him in the sunlight, beckoning him to safety. 

He was down the street in a flash, but he had to pause at the corner to make sure no cars were coming. He’d learned before that it was no good to run from a monster straight into traffic. 

_ “Lily!” _The voice cried just next to his ear. 

Harry gasped and spun, but it was too late. A large, taloned hand was soon grasping his chest, lifting him and slamming him down on his back. Harry’s head clunked against the pavement painfully and he saw stars, all the air gushing out of his lungs at once. He found himself coughing and gazing blearily through teary eyes at what could only be described as a monster. A single eye narrowed down at him, pupils as large as Harry’s head. It was oddly formed, with long limbs, a hooked white beak, and gaunt, wrinkled skin. Dark, thin hair hung in clumps around its face and it wore a filthy brown dress. Even with a beak for a mouth Harry could tell it was was grinning cruelly down at him.

_ “Give me my name," _it gasped, hot, pungent breath buffeting against Harry’s face. A trickle of saliva worked its way down its beak. _ “Tell me where the Book of Friends is. Lily. Lily _ ** _give it to me!_**_” _

Harry choked as one of the long fingers curled harshly around his thin neck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He choked, insistent, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t listen to him —they never did, and it never mattered. He was in the middle of the street but none of the neighbors would come out and help, They couldn’t see the monster, he knew. No one would come help him, even as he lay coughing and writhing on the ground. 

_ “Give it to me!” _It cried, voice somehow more raspy, it’s hair flying up in rage. 

And then, like a miracle. 

“Hey, boy! Are you alright?” A voice called from off to Harry’s left and the monster on top of him was momentarily distracted, large head whipping around to the source of the noise. Harry worked his arm out from the grasp of the clawed hand and nailed the creatures wrist with a swift punch. There was a brief flash of white light and the creature screamed. Harry quickly stumbled to his feet and fled across the intersection onto sacred ground where he collapsed onto the grass of the lawn.

_ “_**_Lily!_ ** **” **The monster shouted in despair, attempting to follow him but unable to enter the grounds. It drifted back and forth in front of an invisible barrier, pacing like a caged lion. Except Harry was the one in the cage, and the predator was outside, its single bulbous eye locked onto his small form in hunger.

Across the street, a man in a blue button down and brown trousers stood in apparent confusion on his front lawn, looking at him like he’d grown three heads. 

“Thanks!” Harry’s hoarsely called out to him anyway, even if the man didn’t know what he had done. The man nodded politely. It seemed in the face of sheer puzzlement he had chosen to fall back on simple manners.

Harry glanced warily back at the monster that hadn’t stopped staring at him and decided he didn’t want to sit there like some sort of sideshow attraction. He dusted off his baggy shorts and made his way to the entrance of the church, hoping to take shelter for a time. 

The tall, red wooden doors were locked. Harry tipped his head to the side, a bit concerned. The doors were never locked during the day so people could come and pray. He was almost always hanging around there, so he’d memorized the hours like they were a lifeline. The pastor probably thought he was an overzealous christian, but Harry wasn’t even sure which denomination the church was for. 

Perhaps someone had simply forgotten to unlock it that morning? Harry hunched his narrow shoulders and peeked behind him where the monster continued to prowl. 

Harry wrinkled his nose to push his glasses up and made his way around the side of the church where he knew the side door was. Visitors weren’t strictly supposed to enter that way, but it was worth a shot and far better than being stared at like a piece of meat. 

He found himself standing in front of a nondescript brown door with a small round window too high for him to see into. Tentatively he turned the brass knob and slumped in relief when the door opened inward. He peered in but found boxes lining the wall, blocking his view. Harry swung the door all the way open and found more of the same. It was clear the side hall was being used as storage, with brown boxes haphazardly stacked on one another along each side of the dimly lit walkway. It was in sore need of a dusting, with cobwebs clinging to the high corners of the ceiling. Harry crept further in, trainers squeaking lightly on the linoleum as he pushed the door shut behind him. It was evident he wasn’t supposed to be in this area, so he walked quietly through, unable to resist the urge to peek into the open boxes as he walked. It was mostly Christmas decorations, he noticed. 

Harry eyes caught on something shiny and he paused, glancing into a mid sized box around eye level with him. It was a painted urn, about as large as his head. Harry was no expert, but the art along the sides seemed Asian in style, depicting a large, round calico cat sitting with a paw poised in the air. It seemed like a little too cute and friendly to have on the side of an urn, Harry thought. Aunt Petunia had urns with his grandparents’ ashes sitting on the fireplace mantle and they were both painted a solemn, plain navy blue. When he spun it, the opposite side showed a snarling white wolf decorated with red markings around the face with a long, curled tail and gold eyes. It looked a bit too much like the monsters Harry frequently saw, and he shifted uncomfortably. 

The top of the urn was rimmed with metallic gold paint and bound with paper, painted with foreign writing. Harry traced the unfamiliar characters carefully with his pointer finger.

A sudden rustle to Harry’s left caused him to squeak in shock and the urn tumbled out of his fingers, shattering against the floor and releasing a plume of smoke into the air. Harry jerked one of his legs up and curled against the boxes as a small mouse fled across the floor in front of him. Wincing at all the shards spinning on the floor, he began to cough as he breathed in all the smoke around him. He waved a hand in front of his face, clearing the air as his heart seized in absolute horror. 

_ Oh my god is this ash? Am I breathing in a person? _Harry thought in revulsion, hacking away and lifting his shirt to cover his nose and mouth. 

However, when the smoke cleared, Harry found himself freezing stock still at the sight of a fat cat sitting amongst the shards of broken urn just down the hall from him, one paw poised in the air beside its head. _ It’s the cat that was painted on the urn, _ Harry thought, a bit distantly. Its eyes were blank and dark, fur splotched with gray and orange, mouth curled into a faint grin, and its body was just—-so _ round… _

Harry giggled.

“What are _ you _ laughing at?” The cat suddenly screamed and Harry jerked back against the boxes, flailing his arms out to try and stop them from coming down around his head. 

“Ohmygod,” Harry gasped, green eyes impossibly wide as he stared at the living, breathing, _ talking _ cat now sitting smugly in front of him. It eyes narrowed. “How are you talking? Are you a monster too?”

“A monster?!” The cat yelled, fur puffing out. “Who do you think you are human? I’m a very _ powerful _ demon.” It poked its flat nose into the air and away from him for a second, but soon it’s black eyes slid back to him. Harry shivered.

“A demon?” He asked hesitantly. “Isn’t that the same thing?” 

“Of course not. Demon even sounds much better,” the cat responded. “Although, I suppose I can cut you some slack. You did release me after all.” It stared at him for a few seconds, looking into his eyes, mouth curled in that strange ever-present smile. Harry noticed that its voice sounded like that of an old man’s. 

“You wouldn’t happen to be Lily would you?” The cat asked, cocking its head sharply. 

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers scrabbling against the boxes behind him like he was looking for a lifeline. He started trembling. 

“N-no,” he stuttered, “I don’t know who that is. Everyone keeps mistaking me for her. My name is Harry.” 

“Hmmm,” the cat said, padding a bit closer and looking him up and down, “now that I look at you closer, I can see that you’re a boy.”

Harry flushed and ducked his head. He knew he was skinny and small but he didn’t think he looked like a _ girl. _He tugged on the edge of his baggy t-shirt and tried to still his shaking hands.

“Don’t think anything of it,” the cat reassured him, squinting in amusement and swishing its tail. “Spirits and demons aren’t good at seeing human genders. We have a hard time telling you all apart. But you definitely have Lily’s famous green eyes. Perhaps she is a relative of yours?” The cat looked at him expectantly. 

Harry took a deep breath and tried to relax just a bit. The cat hadn’t attacked him but that could change at any time. And it was a little comforting know he didn’t look like a girl.

“I don’t know who my parents were. They died when I was a baby,” Harry answered honestly. “I live with my aunt and uncle. So Lily could be a relative, I’m not sure, but I don’t know her.”

The cat’s attention seemed to catch on something in his words. 

“You don’t know your parent’s names?” It asked. “I don’t think that’s very normal for humans.” 

Harry squirmed.

“My aunt and uncle don’t like when I ask questions,” he said, his eye skittering away from the cat’s. It stared at him for a beat longer before it finally asked nonchalantly.

“So you don’t know where the Book of Friends is?” 

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, but the cat just smiled innocently. 

“I don’t,” he hissed. 

“Well, we should look for it.”

“Why do any of you even _ want _it?”

“The book is a collection of names, and the names of demons and spirits are powerful,” The cat explained, unphased by Harry’s venom. “The Book of Friends holds all the names Lily collected in her lifetime. It’s said that having control over the name of a demon gives you control over its very will—and damage to the paper that the name is written on damages the demon itself.”

“That’s—,” Harry paused, “—that’s—why would she collect them like that?”

The cat stared at him. 

“Who knows?” It said. “However, if you get rid of it, spirits may stop attacking you. You could give it to me.” The cat suddenly leaped at him and Harry jerked back, but the cat only settled on top of his head and nestled its paws in his wild black hair. His head was a bit achy from where he hit it on the pavement earlier, but the cat’s weight felt like a comforting pressure.

“Why should you get it?” Harry said, trying not to tilt his head and send the demon flying. He wasn’t willing to test its patience that much. “Do you really think they’d stop attacking me?”

“Probably. Maybe,” the cat swished its tail, tickling Harry’s neck. He notably didn’t answer Harry’s first question. 

“That’s not very reassuring,” Harry grumbled, but he made his way back toward the side door, before pausing and glancing hesitantly down at the shards of broken urn around him. “I-I should clean that up.” 

That cat clenched its paws in his hair but didn’t respond.

Harry took his silence for assent and started hunting around for a broom and dustpan, finally finding them in a small cupboard beside a stack of boxes. He quickly swept up the shards of porcelain, wincing at how much of a mess he’d made.

“I should apologize for breaking the urn,” Harry muttered as he brushed at a piece jammed in the corner. 

“You definitely _ should not _ apologize,” the cat sniffed above him. “That was my prison. You freed me. I’m very thankful.” There was nothing in his tone to suggest he was ‘very thankful.’ 

“That’s not the point,” Harry argued, gently setting the broom and dustpan against the wall. He headed back toward the exit again, this time not pausing until his hand rested against the doorknob. 

“Oh no, the monster!” Harry said, distressed again. It was probably still out there waiting for him. 

“_Demon_,” the cat corrected automatically. “Is there one outside? Did one chase you here?”

Harry didn’t respond, opening the door a crack and poking his head out. He startled badly when he saw the demon still lurking around the edge of the holy ground. The cat didn’t budge from the movement, stuck to his head like it was glued there.

“Oh gosh,” Harry whispered. It was definitely waiting for him, clacking its vicious beak in impatience. 

“_That’s _what your afraid of?” The cat said, surprised. “It’s just some weakling. It can’t even step on holy ground.” 

Harry hadn’t really had the time to process the fact that the cat was a demon _ inside _ the church, but now that it was pointed out, he was a little confused. And a bit scared.

“Is that why you’re fine in the church? You’re really strong?” Harry asked tentatively. The cat’s tail twitched above him. 

“Of course,” it said. It then leaped to the ground and shook its fur like a dog. “I’ll get rid of the weakling, but you’ll have to carry me somewhere to rest afterward. I’m still a bit tired from my imprisonment.” Harry nodded eagerly. 

The cat strutted forward a few steps before turning to him. 

“Well, I’ll get rid of it..._ if _ you promise to give me the Book of Friends after we find it.” 

Harry gaped at it for a second before swallowing hard. 

“I-I guess,” he said. “But I really don’t know where it is.”

“We’ll find it,” the cat said confidently, strolling forward to the edge of the barrier. It paused at the edge, grinning at the demon on the other side, who took a stuttered step backward and glared at him. Harry fluttered behind the cat, wringing his hands. 

_ “You’re not Lily," _it hissed. The cat only looked at the demon and smiled.

“Brilliant observation,” the cat said, before leaping into the air and releasing a blinding flash of light, sending One-Eye clutching at their face in pain. Harry was already moving before he’d even blinked the spots out of his own vision, scooping the ball of fur into his arms and running again. The tormented screams of the one-eyed monster followed him all the way back to Privet Drive but he didn’t stop moving. The cat was not-quite limp in his arms, but relaxed and clearly woozy. 

“That went well,” it commented mildly as they approached Privet Drive. Harry felt the itchy eyes of the neighbors on the back of his neck and he hunched his shoulders in. 

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, his voice just a croak, “No one has ever done that much for me.”

The cat stared blankly up at him with the same vacant, assessing expression Harry was becoming far to familiar with.

“Well,” it said, “I didn’t really do it for you. I just want the book.”

Harry swallowed a tough lump in his throat and nodded.

“Wh-what should I call you?” He asked, before adding swiftly. “Not your name, obviously, just-what do you want to be called?”

“You can call me Nyanko-sensei. Or just sensei,” the cat said blithely. 

“Ah-that’s—,” Harry didn’t finish. It was an adorable name. 

“Your aunt won’t like you bringing home a stray, dear!” Harry heard a voice call from the side and he glanced up, eyes wide. Mrs. Figg stood on her porch, one of her grouchy, fluffy cats curled around her ankles. Harry didn’t mind Mrs. Figg all that much, but when the Dursley’s left him with her to go somewhere fun she just talked about her cats and made him work in her garden. She wasn’t all that bad, but she definitely wasn’t _ nice _. And she definitely couldn’t see demons. 

“I won’t be keeping him!” Harry called back, then he turned his head down and whispered to Nyanko. “You didn’t tell me other people could see you!”

“You didn’t ask. Besides, I told you I’m very strong.”

Harry huffed.

As they made their way up the front of number 4, Privet Drive, Harry’s hands tightened around the cat’s plump body. His eyes moved nervously to the unweeded flower beds he was supposed to have finished by noon before he was ambushed while arm deep in mulch. It was 1:00 now and the bed lay half done. He still had an extremely long list of chores to do, and Aunt Petunia was not likely to be forgiving of his delay. 

“I still have a lot of chores,” Harry whispered to Nyanko, conscious of the nosy eyes of the neighbors on his back. They would love for him to get screamed at by his Aunt on the front lawn and dragged in by his ear. He was a troublemaker afterall. He was entertainment. “I can’t let my Aunt and Uncle find out about you. I’ll put you in my cupboard to rest while I finish up, but you’ll have to be quiet.”

The fat cat just blinked at him in response and Harry sighed before tucking the ball of fur under his baggy shirt and scooting into the house. Nyanko’s fur was soft against his stomach. 

House number 4 was bland and unassuming inside, abnormal in just how hard it was trying to be normal. The walls were cream colored, the furniture was all a matching dark wood, and neat little pictures of a 3-person family lined the walls. Harry knew if he looked he wouldn’t be in a single family photo—he’d spent enough time dusting the frames.

Harry inched down the hall toward the cupboard under the stairs, walking carefully on the floorboards he knew didn’t squeak. He didn’t see Aunt Petunia anywhere and he knew Uncle Vernon had taken Dudley out to the cinema, so he quickly ducked into his cupboard and dumped Nyanko on the cot that acted as his bed. Harry knew other kids didn’t live in a cupboard, they had bedrooms, but maybe other kids weren’t as much as a waste of space as he was. Less freakish. 

The cat looked rather ruffled and offended at being dropped like a sack, but Harry didn’t give him any time to speak before closing the door and starting to slip away.

“And just _ what _do you think you’re doing inside?” Came a sharp voice and Harry jerked around. He gazed into the harsh eyes of his Aunt Petunia, her face pinched into near constant disapproval. She was a bony woman, all angles and harsh lines, with more wrinkles than her age would suggest she should have. According to her, the stress of having to take care of Harry aged her, but Harry rather thought it was the stress of managing so many gossip rings around the neighborhood at once.

“I came in for a drink,” Harry answer quickly. His aunt didn’t look mollified. 

“You ran off again didn’t you?” She hissed. “I haven’t seen you out there for over an hour. Do you think I took you in just so you could freeload?” She swatted his head. It didn’t really hurt, but it wasn’t really supposed to in that way.

“I’m sorry ma'am,” Harry lowered his eyes. “I’ll go out again and work extra fast.” 

“You’d better, or your uncle will have your hide,” she spit and shoved his shoulder in the direction of the front door. Harry stumbled backward and hurried outside to finish the weeding and start on the mowing. That had gone better than he’d thought it would. 

\- - - 

After hours of toiling in the heat, Harry was bone tired, shaking, and dripping sweat. He had a roaring headache and kept rolling his shoulder, feeling the bruises blooming on his back from when the monster shoved him into the ground. He was fairly certain a long one was growing on his neck as well. 

With relief and a little bit of righteous anger, Harry finished cleaning the outside windows. The sky was a dusky purple and he stepped back to admire his work in the fading light. The flower beds around the house were all neat and weeded, the lawn was mowed, the porch was scrubbed clean, Aunt Petunia’s summer herbs were all re-potted, and overall he felt he’d done a great job and made good time to boot. Especially considering his little detour.

His uncle had pulled into the driveway with Dudley in tow while he’d been potting, glaring at him like he contained all the evils of the world. Harry couldn’t help but think he knew he’d gone off schedule somehow, even though Harry had pulled weeds like a madman to catch up. 

Humming to himself, Harry put his tools away in the garden shed, working quickly to toss things back in their proper places. There was a dark shadowy thing with white, sharp teeth that lurked in the garden shed but most days it didn’t bother him if he worked quickly and gave it a little tune. _ Some monsters aren’t so bad if you know how to work around them, _ Harry thought, _ but most just tried to kill me. _

_ Or trick me. _

Harry thought briefly back to Nyanko-sensei as he finished tidying up and slid the shed door closed. Why _ did _the cat want the Book of Friends? What was he planning to do with it? Hurt the monsters whose names it contained? 

_ Some of those monsters deserve to be hurt, _ Harry thought, remembering the way that One-eye had gripped his neck and shoved him down. It was worse than when his cousin and his friends bullied him, because at least he knew they would just kick him around a bit. They didn’t try to _ kill _him. 

They were always chasing him, screaming at him, and ruining everything around him. They scared him in class, tore up his homework, and sent him running for his life at the most inopportune times. No one at school would be friends with him because he was the creep who was constantly talking to himself and running from nothing. His aunt and uncle were extra mean to him whenever a spirit did something, call him a freak, hitting him, and locking him in his cupboard. A lot of the spirits didn’t even call him Lily, weren’t even looking for the book—they just wanted to torment him and watch him cry. 

Harry found himself getting angry and he scrubbed his face with his hands._ Soon I won’t have to worry about it, _Harry thought with a bit of vindictive glee, and he went inside to clean up and start on the Dursley’s supper. 

As soon as he stepped in, his uncle was yelling.

“Boy!” The large man shouted from the living room couch. “Get started on supper, now!”

Harry answered with a quiet ‘yes sir’ and quickly washed his hands and tied on an apron. He threw together a pasta dish as quickly as he could and dished out heavy servings for Uncle Vernon and Dudley, giving Aunt Petunia as much as he believed she wouldn’t find insulting. 

That left about a bowl of pasta for him which he was very pleased about, and he headed back to the kitchen to eat out of sight. 

“Wait, freak, top me off,” Dudley ordered when Harry had only taken two steps into the kitchen. Harry panicked and quickly ladled a scoop into his bowl before heading back and dumping the rest on Dudley’s waiting plate. He’d finished it too, even if it was an unholy amount of food. 

Harry ate his pasta in silence, grimacing at the fact that he could only squeak a few bites out of the meager portion. He looked miserably at his skinny wrists; he’d never be able to beat up Dudley at this rate. The boy was a mammoth. 

After dinner Harry cleaned up quickly, scrubbing the dishes free of marinara sauce and starch, lining them up neatly in the rack. He was excited to get back to Nyanko; even though he didn’t completely trust the round cat it was exciting to have someone to talk to. 

“Boy, get out here,” Uncle Vernon barked from just outside the kitchen entryway and Harry barely hesitated before drying his hands and going to his uncle. 

The man was just so _ large _. He took up the entire doorway, blocking the hallway light and overshadowing Harry’s form. Harry always felt so small in front of his uncle, who was big and strong, and, well, big. 

“I heard you ran off during chores again,” his uncle said nastily, crossing his large, hairy arms in front of him and scowling through his thick mustache. 

“I’m sorry sir, I got distracted and—,”

Uncle Vernon swiftly cut him off and jammed a plump finger in his face, ire rising as Harry sputtered.

“Don’t you lie to me boy, I know you’re out there seeing your _ freakish _things,” the man spat, face becoming an awful shade of red, “and I’ll be having none of it! You hear me? I don’t want to see your face for a week!” He swiftly reached out and yanked on Harry’s ear, ignoring the boy’s yelp, before dragging him toward the cupboard door and tossing him in like a particularly unappealing rag doll. Harry’s bruised back hit the back wall of the tiny room, and he groaned as the door slammed shut and he heard the lock slide home. 

“One week!” His uncle hissed one more time through the wood of the door before stomping off, sending the floorboards into a frenzy of creaks. Harry went limp and curled himself into a loose ball. One week for ducking out of chores for a couple hours wasn’t the worst he’d had, but it was always depressing to be locked in the cupboard again. 

Timidly he glanced through the gap at the crook of his arm at Nyanko, who was curled in the corner of the cot staring at him. Harry felt a blush rise to his face and up his ears, and he tried to push his embarrassment down. 

_ You can’t help how other people treat you, and you can’t make people be nice, _ Harry reminded himself, _ there’s nothing to be embarrassed about _. That’s what some of the books at the library always said about dealing with bullies, but it was also spectacularly unhelpful advice. 

Luckily, Nyanko didn’t seem inclined to say anything about his predicament, only watching 

Harry with a look like he was examining an interesting bug. The TV started up again outside the cupboard and Harry relaxed a little since they could whisper without being heard.

“I’m sorry Nyanko, I don’t know if we’ll be able to look for the book for a bit,” Harry said. “But, I was thinking about it, and the attic might be a good place to start. I think my aunt mentioned some old relatives’ things are up there. She meant to have me sort it last summer but—,” Harry cut himself off. She’d meant to have him sort it last summer but he’d done something freakish and had ended up locked in his cupboard for three weeks. School had started by then, and no one was in the mood to fill the house with dust.

“We’ll get out before then,” Nyanko said, then paused. “Wait, call me _ sensei!_ Sen-sei_._”

Harry giggled a bit and crawled up onto the tiny cot, picking the cat up and plopping him on his lap. 

“Sensei means teacher right? Dudley is always watching ninja shows that say that,” Harry stroked the cat's head and he felt it purr then stiffen. 

“Don’t treat me like a cat!” Nyanko ranted, squirming on his lap, but a careful scratch behind the ear turned the fat cat to jelly. 

Harry giggled. 

“_ I told you to stop—!” _


	2. There Was a Talking Snake

By the third day, Harry was beginning to doubt that Nyanko would or could get them out of the cupboard any earlier than his one week punishment required. The cat was currently attempting to slaughter one of the spiders in a high upper corner, leaping up and waving one of his pudgy paws frantically in the air. Harry looked on, unimpressed. 

_ Not a cat, huh? _He thought.

“I thought you were going to get us out of here early,” Harry said instead, grabbing the cat around it’s middle and setting him down again. Honestly, his aunt and uncle were bound to hear him thumping around like a sack of sand. 

“Oh, right,” Nyanko commented, folding his paws. “How long has it been? I don’t have a very good sense of time.”

Harry pinched his nose. He hoped he wouldn’t get stress lines like Aunt Petunia, but at the rate Nyanko was influencing him he’d probably have gray hair before he was 12. Being trapped in the cupboard with the cat wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it was certainly better than being alone, but he mostly complained and asked him if he had alcohol or fish. Harry only had portions of his daily slices of bread to offer him, sometimes an apple. Nyanko was distinctly unsatisfied. 

“It’s been three days,” Harry finally said. Nyanko just smiled, tail waving.

“We’ll look around tonight then.”

Harry and Nyanko spent the rest of the day chatting about their favorite foods and hobbies as evening rolled around. Nyanko seemed firm on fish and dango being the best foods in the world. Harry hadn’t had dango and the Dursleys wouldn’t waste expensive fish on him, but he’d had fish and chips from a street stand once and that was pretty great. 

The Dursleys let him out briefly to go to the bathroom in the evening, Uncle Vernon watching him like a hawk as if he’d try to make a break for it or something. When they locked him up again, the cupboard door rattled as they lumbered up the stairs, sawdust sprinkling down from the ceiling onto the two below. Harry waited another few hours just to be sure since no one ever went to sleep right away, listening for any sign of movement on the floor above. 

Nyanko, for his part, was steadily becoming more impatient, twitching and pacing. Harry thought this was pretty ironic coming from the demon that apparently couldn’t keep track of time. Although, perhaps that was normal for demons.

When everything settled, Harry watched with trepidation as Nyanko started pressing and wiggling his body against the small gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. Eventually the demon seemed to compress, flattening out into a disturbing cat-shaped pancake and sliding under the door easily. Harry was a little stunned, but he shook himself when he heard the lock click open outside. 

Once out, Harry wavered on his feet, blinking at the open space around him. He always felt strange and weak after being in his cupboard for multiple nights—like the world was just too big for him. 

“C’mon,” Nyanko said, his reedy voice low and quiet, “Book of Friends. Let’s find it.” 

Harry motioned for Nyanko to follow, and he led them up the stairs, hardly making a noise as he slipped along the wooden floorboards with practiced ease. They entered Dudley's second bedroom at the end of the hall, passing his aunt and uncle’s door with extra care. His uncle’s snoring seemed to shake the door in its frame, and he was grateful for the man’s inability to be quiet, even when unconscious. He wasn’t worried about Dudley—the boy wouldn’t wake unless you dropped a bomb on the house. 

Dudley’s second bedroom was full of broken toys and games. Everywhere he stepped there was a plastic piece of something or a rubber bit of something else—it was a minefield. Embedded in the ceiling was the entrance to the attic, a flip door that a ladder would slide out of. It was far too high for him to reach, so Harry grabbed a wooden stool painted with rocket ships and set in on the floor directly below the door. He was still too short, and his fingers were a good foot from the ceiling. 

“Let me,” Nyanko said, before giving a giant, unnaturally high leap and biting onto the rope handle. Heavy though the cat was, he didn’t weigh enough to pull the door open. Harry grabbed Nyanko around the waist and gave a yank. 

Suddenly the door came open and Nyanko went flying, hitting the wall opposite Harry with a solid thump. Both of them froze, Nyanko upside down looking a bit disgruntled, but when the quiet was only broken by his uncle’s snores down the hall, they relaxed. 

He looked up into the foreboding blackness and hoped there were no spirits lurking in the attic. 

The ladder wasn’t too hard to get down, and Nyanko flew up and undid the latch holding it, letting it slowly slide to where Harry could catch and lower it. He climbed, wincing as the floor creaked beneath the pressure of the ladder. Once up, he slumped onto the dusty floor of the attic, peering through the inky blackness to find Nyanko’s face. 

“I didn’t bring a torch,” Harry whispered in exasperation at himself, slapping his own forehead and jostling his glasses.

“What am I, chopped liver?” The cat asked, and its forehead began to glow a cool white, a strange symbol lighting up in the center of his round head. It looked like a question mark. with a dot in the center of the crook and lines scattered around it like a doodled sun. The light was just enough to see by, and Harry looked around the cluttered, disorganized attic with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. 

“Humans are hoarders,” Nyanko noted, and at the moment Harry couldn’t help but agree.

Trying to narrow things down, Harry started going through and eliminating the boxes with holiday decorations and old clothes, squinting at the neatly written labels in the dim light. He found a box stuffed with a lot of the clothes he’d worn when he was younger and some broken toys he’d been given to play with after Dudley had all but destroyed them. They were shoved in with little care, wrinkled and tangled, but Harry was more disturbed that anyone had even kept them. Dudley’s things were packed much neater into the box beside his, clothes pristine and neatly folded. Harry picked up a little blue rattle that he’d used to love, far past the age where rattles were supposed to keep a child entertained. He gave it a little shake and piece of plastic fell out of a crack in the top. 

Nyanko and Harry worked their way through the boxes all night but had little luck. The attic covered the whole second floor of the house and some of the first floor, and it was slow going since Harry had to crawl quietly along. Harry kept turning up things he’d rather not have seen, like his aunt and uncle’s wedding pictures of them smiling lovingly at each other. There were pictures of his aunt, pregnant with one hand lightly resting on her stomach and grinning into the camera, glowing with health and happiness. It was like glimpsing an alternate reality where the two angry, worn people who were supposed to be taking care of him were actually _ happy _. Perhaps Harry really was just an unwanted burden on them. His parents had been reckless drunks that died in a car crash and dumped Harry in his aunt and uncle’s laps. They always said so, and he knew his arrival had been sudden and unwelcome. 

_ They would be happier without me, _Harry thought, staring down at the grainy pictures crinkled in his hands.

“Kid,” Nyanko’s voice broke into his thoughts, and he looked to his left to find Nyanko sitting beside him, “are you paying attention to the time? Because I’m sure not.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah we should probably get back downstairs.” 

“I’ll stay here and keep looking,” Nyanko said, placing a paw on the box beside him. “I’ll come get you tomorrow night.”

Harry stiffened at the thought of being alone in his cupboard again, but he nodded in agreement. It made sense after all, and it would help increase Nyanko’s chances of not being seen. They were just lucky that Uncle Vernon couldn’t hope to fit his humongous body into his “room.” 

Harry crawled back toward the opening in the floor and scuttled down, looking dubiously up at the ladder and door. It was clear he wouldn’t be able to get it stored back up there even with Nyanko’s help, so he could only hope Dudley didn’t need anything from his second bedroom anytime soon. Nervous, he left it the way it was.

Early morning light was starting to trickle into the home as Harry crept back down the stairs and started to enter his cupboard. Then he froze, eyes resting on the lock—the lock on the _ outside of the door. _There was no way for Harry to lock himself in. 

A tremble ran through his body as he thought of what his uncle would say, what his uncle would _ do _ when he saw the cupboard unlocked. He would assume Harry had done something freakish again then clout him to the floor and lock him in the cupboard for even longer. Probably two or three weeks this time, because it was freakishness in Uncle Vernon’s own home. There wasn’t even any time to get Nyanko’s help, since Aunt Petunia would be waking up any minute like she always did, rising at dawn like clockwork. In fact, he could hear rustling above him now. 

Panicking, Harry dove into the small space and gently shut the door, hands quivering and a cold sweat building up on his forehead. There were several long minutes where nothing happened, just Harry’s harsh breathing. Then there was a shuffle above, and he could hear Aunt Petunia's slippered feet as she came down the stairs and entered the kitchen. 

Still as a statue, Harry listened as his aunt rustled around, preparing her morning tea. She then moved toward his cupboard and Harry backed away from the door, sitting on his cot and trying to arrange his face into something innocent. His body was tense as wire though, and he doubted he'd be able to hide that. 

But, miraculously, he heard the lock slide _ first, _ and then the door opened to his aunt’s tight face glaring down on him. He gaped.

“What are you looking at?” She barked. “Get up, go to the loo, then come back.”

Harry didn’t try his luck, jumping up and flying to the bathroom. When he was done and tucked back into his cot, his aunt tossed a cheese sandwich at him and slammed the door, shaking the single lightbulb that hung from his ceiling. 

Harry’s breathing steadied and he munched on his cheese sandwich, thinking all the while. How had the door locked? Had Nyanko somehow done it? He felt he should have heard the lock click if that was so, and there was hardly any time for the round animal to have gone up and down the stairs before his aunt came out. 

Harry could only frown and chew, waiting for night to fall once more. 

\- - 

It could not be underestimated how boring being locked in the cupboard was.

Harry had a couple library books with him, but he’d already read them at the church the weekend before. It was often where he went to read since the monsters couldn’t bother him there. Granted, they didn’t _ usually _ come into his cupboard, only sometimes sticking a ghoulish face in, but they still lurked around the house, scaring him badly whenever they could and messing with the Dursley’s things. When he was outside or at school sometimes the big ones would come, nasty horse-faced monsters or giant, pointy eared goblin-like creatures. They were the ones that really tried to hurt him, screaming for Lily and the Book of Friends. 

Harry had found that the demons couldn’t step on any type of holy ground, regardless of denomination or particular religion. He’d escaped into mosques and clung to hindu shrines before, thanking whatever gods were out there that there were some things that were sacred. Usually the demons gave up when he entered holy ground, although sometimes they were stubborn and lurked around like One-eye.

They almost always returned. 

Harry doodled until he exhausted his supply of scrap paper, drawing many of the demons and spirits he usually saw. There was the woman who sat in the nearby park, wearing a maroon dress with a blindfold wrapped tightly around her eyes. There was the garden shed monster. There was the funny frog-duck things that played in the London channel and dunked their bald heads in the water. They liked to chase him in hoards whenever his aunt brought them to the city for shopping.

Once night fell again, Harry waited patiently for Nyanko to come get him. Part of him doubted the demon even would, especially if he had already found the book, but he waited all the same. 

An hour or two after midnight by Harry’s estimates, the lock clicked again and Nyanko peeped at him, ever present smile on his round face.

“I found something,” he said before bouncing away. Harry followed. 

Back in the attic, Nyanko strolled to the center of a pile of boxes, pushing a couple aside with his glowing forehead, plopping in front of one and gesturing to it.

Harry crawled forward and strained to read the writing on the side. It was Aunt Petunia’s neat cursive. 

“_Lily’s Things_,” it read. Harry gasped. 

“So Aunt Petunia really is related to Lily,” Harry thought aloud, “which means...I am.”

Nyanko didn’t comment, only jerking his head for Harry to get on with it. 

Harry dug carefully through the contents of the box, pulling out a few feminine blouses and old, used sketch pencils. There wasn’t much in there in all honesty, but at the bottom Harry found two books bound in leather. 

The first he flipped open to find a photo album, grainy pictures taped down in neat rows. There was one of a laughing couple he didn’t recognize, standing outside a house in front of a smoking grill. The woman had a blinding smile and the man was waving a spatula. They both looked unbelievably happy. 

“That’s not the Book of Names…” Nyanko observed, but Harry shushed him and kept looking. 

The next few pictures were of the same couple, the pictures slanted at odd angles as if taken by a young child. They weren’t smiling in every photo, but many of the candids depicted them doing mundane tasks like pouring tea and listening to radio, the wife knitting with a content look. 

Harry flipped the page and sucked in a gasp at a photo of what appeared to be the whole family. He instantly recognized his aunt, younger but still just as bony and awkward. She seemed a bit uncomfortable in her own skin, a bit too tall, and hair done up in curls around her—but a soft smile that Harry had never seen before graced her lips. He doubted even Dudley had ever seen that smile. 

The older man and woman hovered around the back of the photo with big grins, and in front of them stood a young girl, cheeks plump with baby fat. Her smile was wide and genuine, and her hair was a brilliant red as it cascaded over her shoulders. The girl’s eyes were a bright, familiar emerald green.

Hands shaking, Harry reached into the plastic sleeve and delicately unstuck the photo from the back, flipping it over.

“_Mom, Dad, Lily and Me - Summer 1969_,” the back read in Aunt Petunia’s script. 

Lily was his aunt’s sister. 

“Lily was my mum,” Harry whispered numbly, staring at the photo. 

It had never occurred to him, even when Nyanko had mentioned that he shared Lily’s eyes, that she could be his mother. He couldn’t imagine a drunk that had gotten herself killed in a car accident to be the same person that the spirits seemed so desperate to reach. Who saw the same things he saw and collected demons’ names like it was a party game. His aunt and uncle had always called his actions freakish and his parents freaks too, but that term was used ubiquitously for literally anything the couple didn’t immediately like or understand. 

“The other book. What is it?” Nyanko asked, a bit of a feral look on his round face, forehead symbol glowing brighter. 

Harry reached in and picked up the other book, flipping it open. Printed on the inside cover in what was likely the lopsided handwriting of a young Lily were the words, “_Book of Friends._” 

Harry’s fingers tightened around the cover and he flipped through the pages lightly. 

_ Marie. Foryn. Belephor. Robert. Taryn. Alice. Henry. Sighelen. _

There was only one per page, only on the front side of each paper, written in a variety of different people’s handwriting with a variety of different pens.

“That’s it,” Nyanko said, his gaze hungrier than Harry had ever seen it. He looked down at the book and then back at the cat. 

This had been his _ mother’s. _

“You want it, right?” Harry said. Nyanko blinked. 

“Of course. That was the deal.”

“It’s just-,” Harry paused, “-I feel like this sure has a _ lot _ of names.” It did. The book was about two and a half inches thick. 

Nyanko’s eyes were pinned to Harry, not a lick of emotion wavering through his pupils. 

“Are you trying to go back on our deal?” Nyanko’s voice seemed to sink lower, deeper and more frightening than it was before. The element of play and cheer was completely gone. 

“No—,” Harry cried, sensing danger, “—I’m just not sure I got a good deal in the first place is all. I mean, this is a lot of power right here.” He flapped the book a bit. 

“Careful with that!” Nyanko said sharply. “And you _ can’t _ go back on the deal. That’s not how deals work. You agreed to the terms, _ now give me the book.” _

Harry scooted backward as Nyanko’s form seemed to warp and stretch, growing and growing until it filled up the attic. Suddenly Harry wasn’t staring at a fat calico cat but instead an enormous white wolf with golden eyes and a familiar, question-mark shape painted in red on his forehead. His wide mouth was big enough to eat Harry with one bite, and his clawed paw had Harry trapped, pressing down on his small form with even pressure. Hot puffs of air blew Harry’s black hair backwards, exposing his scar.

Harry felt the acrid taste of betrayal curling around the back of his throat. He knew that he was technically the one in the wrong; he was the one going back on the deal, but that was before he’d _ known _. That Lily was his mother. That he actually had something left of her. And even if she had been worthless like his aunt said, she was still his mum. 

So he glared wetly back up at the wolf, tears warming behind his eyes, his whole body shaking with fear. Nyanko wasn’t crushing him, but he wasn’t letting up either. 

“_Why are you making yourself a liar?” _ Nyanko growled, his voice deep and resounding, lips pulled back in a snarl. “ _ Give me the book and I will let you live.” _

“N-no,” Harry said, his voice as firm as he could make it. “It’s all I have left. You’re not getting it.”

“_What do you mean? You didn’t care before, why should you care now?” _

“That was before I knew she...she was…,” Harry’s words stumbled to a halt. 

The wolf’s gold eyes were angry but equally as confused. _ He really doesn’t understand, _ Harry thought, _ I doubt demons even have parents. _

Harry’s back bruises had healed to an ugly green by this point but it still hurt to be laying on the dry wood of the attic. Nyanko wasn’t pressing down any harder though, even as the giant seemed to come to terms with the fact that Harry wasn’t budging on his decision. 

While the wolf wavered on what to do next, Harry wormed an arm out of the demon’s relatively loose grip and slammed a fist into his paw. A flash of bright light filled the attic.

_ “Ow!” _ Nyanko yelped, yanking back his arm. Harry quickly lunged to his feet and followed up with a quick _ whap _to the wolf’s forehead. Another bright light filled the attic and the wolf was now cradling his head with his paws, whining forlornly and trying to get as far away from Harry as he could in the cramped space. Harry didn’t even wonder at the light; it seemed to happen every time he whacked a demon. 

“Quit this!” Harry yelled, puffed up and frustrated, tears leaking down his cheeks. “You clearly don’t want to kill me so just make a new deal with me.”

“_ I—what?” _ Nyanko grumbled, offended but still patting his hurt head. “_I’d have no trouble killing you, child. And I’m not changing the deal.” _

But neither of them moved for the moment, eyeing each other up and down. Harry wished he was a bit braver, and then maybe he wouldn’t quake so much even when he was trying to be firm. 

_ I wonder if mum ever felt this way in front of demons, _Harry thought.

“_I’m not changing the deal,” _ Nyanko reiterated, pouting, “_But...in my infinite grace I may be willing to alter it. Only because I am a truly great and benevolent demon.” _

Harry’s eyes blew wide and he relaxed, just a tad. A smile tickled his cheeks. 

“_I will protect the book,” _the demon huffed, “a_nd you will give it to me after you die—not by my own claws, of course.” _

“That seems to be in your favor,” Harry pointed out, used to people trying to trick him by now. “You should protect me too. Then I get something out of it.” The wolf gave him an odd look. 

“_You would...want me to?” _

“Well, yeah,” Harry replied, sitting on his knees and looking into the wolf’s golden eyes. He really was brilliant in this form. “It was nice, not to be alone. And you’re really strong, I think you’d be good at it. Even if I did get you with two punches.” Harry snickered, already feeling much better.

“_That’s not what I—,” _ The wolf paused, “_—t__wo punches?! Those punches were absolutely packed with spiritual power! Regardless, they would have been like mosquito bites if I was serious.” _

Harry nodded sympathetically and the wolf glared.

“_Yes, well. Fine. I’ll protect the book _ ** _and_ ** _ you until you die or something kills you, and then I get the Book of Friends," _the wolf sighed. “_Human lifespans are short anyway I suppose.” _

Harry couldn’t help it, he gave a little whoop of glee and darted forward to wrap a hug around the large wolf. Nyanko was disgruntled but didn’t push him off, so Harry buried his face into the thick white fur and sighed with relief. 

_ “Let’s make it official this time,” _ Nyanko said. “_No take-backsies, as the humans say. A simple spirit promise. It’s unbreakable.” _

Harry nodded up at the wolf and Nyanko’s forehead flashed white briefly, like it had when he was in cat form. He felt something settle around his shoulders, like a heavy blanket. It was comforting. 

Suddenly exhausted, Harry blinked blearily up at the wolf. 

_ “You need to sleep,” _the demon commented. “_You poured a lot of spiritual power into those punches.” _ He paused, then added, “ _ And you’re not going back to that stupid cupboard.” _

So the wolf curled into a ball and Harry climbed on, relaxing into his soft, warm fur before drifting into a fog of near-sleep. 

“I didn’ think you cared ab’t my cupb’rd,” Harry murmured, slurring slightly and watching with distant interest as the ladder to the attic retreated up and the door closed on its own. 

“_Are you kidding? It’s not even livable. My urn was more comfortable,” _the demon sniffed. 

“Did you lock my cupb’rd this m’rning?” He asked. There was a moment of silence.

“_No. I had forgotten it locked from the outside. Did you get in trouble?” _

“Nope,” Harry gave the ‘p’ a small pop, “it locked itself...how‘sat?”

Harry didn’t bother to listen for an answer, only drifting off to sleep. 

  
\- -

The days passed faster with someone to talk to. 

Although Nyanko had decided to live in the attic for the most part, leaving in an out of a small window they’d popped open, Harry found that his mere presence seemed to keep most demons and spirits out of the house. The only one that didn’t evacuate was the spirit in the garden shed, who now bared its teeth every time Harry entered with Nyanko stuck to the top of his head. Around the neighborhood, spirits mostly cleared a path, sometimes calling forlornly for Lily but overall remaining silent around Nyanko. Harry was enjoying the relative peace, and he definitely enjoyed chatting with Nyanko. They had to be wary though, since, according to the cat, people with weak spiritual power might be able to hear him speak.

“Weak spiritual power isn’t all that common,” Nyanko had said. “Weak things have trouble detecting other weak things, but weak things aren’t so bad at detecting strong things.”

The Dursleys seemed to think Nyanko was a stray, completely oblivious to his presence in their house. Aunt Petunia in particular didn’t like him, but since Mrs. Figg came around and cooed at him every so often they reluctantly let him hang around. It wouldn’t do to bring the ire of the one person in the neighborhood willing to get Harry out of the Dursley’s hair. 

Uncle Vernon, oddly enough, seemed to _ like _ Nyanko, if only because the cat kept away Harry’s freakishness. Harry hadn’t run screaming into the house from seemingly nothing in about two weeks. 

“I’m telling you darling, I think the beast is actually doing the boy some good,” He commented while the family sipped lemonade on the back patio. Harry was doing some more weeding around the side of the house where the Dursleys couldn’t see him. He wore a drawstring bag that he kept the Book of Friends in since Nyanko thought it’d be stupid to let it out of sight.

“Yes, well, I still don’t want it in the house,” Aunt Petunia snapped back. Harry suppressed a giggle and Nyanko let out an odd cat-laugh. They really had no idea. “I don’t even know what it _ eats _ to get that fat.” Nyanko stopped laughing. 

“It is rather round,” Uncle Vernon chuckled, for once in his life in good humor and also completely unable to see the hypocrisy of his comment. Harry yanked a dandelion out of the dirt and threw it into the pile. 

“I am _ adorable,_” Nyanko snapped quietly, burrowing his paws into Harry’s hair. His favorite perch was on Harry’s head. The boy wasn’t really sure how the cat stayed there.

Harry tuned back in, but the Dursleys had moved on, apparently now stressed about what to do with Harry on Dudley’s birthday when they were planning to bring his cousin and friend Piers to the zoo. Miss Figg had broken her leg and wasn’t in any shape to watch him. Dudley had also joined the two on the patio, whining obnoxiously that he didn’t _ want _ Harry there and he’d _ ruin _it. 

“Well it can’t be helped,” Aunt Petunia snipped, stunning Dudley into silence. She was never cross at Dudley. She ruined it though. “Oh Duddykins, you know I didn’t mean to snap at you. But there’s really nothing I can do—the boy and his cat will probably ruin the house while we’re out.” 

Harry grinned slowly. He’d get to go to the zoo tomorrow! 

“Did you hear that?” Harry asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he worked. Nyanko grumbled as he was jostled. 

“Yes, yes, headed to the zoo. How will you sneak me in?” 

Harry froze. 

“Oh. That might be hard. Well, I mean you don’t have to come do you?” He asked, stabbing the dirt with his trowel. “I mean, it's been pretty quiet.”

“It’s been quiet because I’ve been with you,” Nyanko said drily. “I can see the headlines now, ‘Young Boy Dives Screaming into Alligator Pit to Escape Unseen Force.’”

“Alright I get it. I’ll put you in my backpack.” 

Harry worked the rest of the day, listening to Dudley’s frequent whinging about having to bring Harry along to the zoo. He followed his aunt around, throwing his very best tantrums but she didn’t budge. Eventually Harry found himself in an overdramatic standoff with his cousin outside the garden shed. 

“I don’t want you there tomorrow, freak,” Dudley told him, clenching his fat fist menacingly. Nyanko yawned on top of Harry’s head. 

“I don’t make the decisions,” Harry mumbled. He hated talking to his cousin—it usually ended in bruises. He quickly closed the garden shed door so the bitey thing didn’t get out and start, well, biting. That would definitely be blamed on him. 

“Is that a no?” Dudley asked, and with all the wit the boy had it was probably an honest question. 

“Look, I’ll bake a double chocolate cake for you if you stop making a fuss,” he said hopefully, turning to his cousin.

“Wouldn’t you do that anyway? It’s going to be _ my _birthday after all.”

“Nope. Aunt Petunia only bought vanilla cake mix, but I know how to make it chocolate if you really want it.” 

Harry knew he had him. Dudley’s watery blue eyes squinted at him, the boy clearly feeling like he was being played.

“Fine,” he spat, “but the deal is off if it’s bad cake.” His cousin stalked off. Harry noticed the boy’s shirt hardly fit and maybe the double chocolate cake would be just enough to push it into Harry’s closet of hand-me-downs.

“Like I’ve ever made a bad cake,” Harry said. He could tell Nyanko was grinning above him but, then again, the cat always was. 

“Good idea, making a deal,” he commented. “You treated him like a demon.”

“Well, sometimes people just act more demons than people I guess.” 

Nyanko hummed in agreement. 

\- -

Dudley’s birthday rolled around, and in between the boy screeching about having one less present than the year before and generally acting like an oversized toddler, Harry baked the best chocolate cake that had ever graced the Dursley’s kitchen. It was three layers of baked decadence, dripping with whipped chocolate icing and sprinkled with little chocolate chunks. 

Harry was ridiculously proud. He placed it in front of the Dursleys with all the flourish of a five-star chef, crossing his arms and smirking as the family gaped. 

“You made this?” Aunt Petunia asked, her voice shrill. Dudley was already digging in, not even bothering to cut a piece and just sticking it with his fork. He moaned a bit when the cake hit his tongue and Harry took that as his thanks since he would never actually get any. He went to the kitchen to clean up. 

However, Dudley did suspiciously leave one small lump of cake on the plate that he defended stringently from his father but never actually ate. Harry didn’t dare hope that his cousin had grown a heart but savored the bite of cake all the same. 

As they waited outside for Piers to get there, Nyanko descended from the attic with all the elegance of a bouncing ball. He hopped into the backpack and Harry zipped it quickly, trying to convey innocence when his aunt looked his way. 

“Why do you need a bag boy?” His uncle grumped when he fired up the car. Piers had arrived and they had packed themselves tightly into the backseat. 

“I’m bringing a sketchbook,” Harry responded. It couldn’t have been more of a lie, not only because the backpack was bulging with Nyanko’s roundness, but also because there was no way Harry could have ever gotten his hands on something as nice as a sketchbook. He knew the Dursleys were at loathe to point out that they never got him anything though, so they drove off without any more questions. 

Harry was more surprised that Dudley didn’t see fit to punch the bag and elbow Harry the whole way, but he supposed the truce was still on. Piers seemed a bit miffed. 

The drive to the zoo went by quickly. Harry zoned out, focus lost out the window, and tried not to make any eye contact with the spirits that tended to hang around crossroads. Those ones were always awful looking.

Sneaking Nyanko in didn’t actually turn out to be difficult since security around the local zoo wasn’t very tight. Harry tried not to look suspicious when they passed a yawning, middle-aged guard with salt and pepper hair, but they went undetected. Harry quickly split off from the Dursleys to wander on his own. Once they were away, Harry flipped his bag so it was slung in front of him and Nyanko poked his head out, doing his best imitation of a stuffed animal. His head lolled whenever someone walked by. 

There were small spirits everywhere; black, shapeless forms lingering around visitors and curling around their ankles. Harry watched a man trip over seemingly nothing while a little spirit, shaped like a radish danced around his feet, giggling. 

“Why do they have to mess with people so much?” Harry asked, watching the man climb back to his feet, looking bemused.

“They’re just bored.”

The duo continued on, wandering around to see the different animals from behind high fences and glass walls. Sometimes, demons inhabited the different environments as well, gazing out at the people outside with just as much interest as those gazing in. 

“Do they get caught with the animals?” Whispered Harry, keeping an eye on a hairy, red-horned demon lurking around the panda habitat. It had bloodshot yellow eyes and large bottom teeth that protruded from all angles. 

“I think it’s more likely they just tag along because their bored,” Nyanko replied, “but most mid-level demons prefer to stay in one place for their entire existence. These ones are a little weird.”

_ Home, _ Harry thought, watching the red demon reach out to jostle a woman’s purse so it fell into the panda habitat, _ I hope I can find a home some day. _

Harry didn’t stay to watch the irritable zookeepers fetch the purse, heading instead for the reptile room. He peered into the glass containers with interest, watching the snakes nap and the frogs leap around. 

“Why won’t it move?” Harry heard a familiar voice grump, and he turned to see Dudley lingering around a large glass habitat and blatantly ignoring a sign that said, ‘_ Please don’t tap the glass.’ _

Somehow he had managed to circle back around to the Dursleys, and Harry grimaced. 

“Might want to hide me again,” Nyanko mumbled, comically trying to keep his mouth from moving as much as possible as he attempted to channel stuffed animal energy. Harry smiled, quickly adjusting his backpack and shoving Nyanko’s large head back in.

Harry approached the habitat Piers and his cousin were in front of. Piers opened his mouth to say something nasty, but Dudley elbowed him and gave him a glare he usually reserved for Harry before hustling both of them off. Harry blinked but tried his best to appreciate how far Dudley was taking their one-day truce. 

He stood in front of the snake, which was absolutely enormous. Its thick, striped body was wrapped around the faux tree branches, draped in never ending ribbons across the habitat. Harry looked at the species plaque to read, ‘_Boa Constrictor - Brazil.’ _

“Do you miss your home?” Harry asked it quietly. The huge snake only stared at him, and Harry couldn’t tell if it was asleep or not. He knew from a library book he’d read that snakes don't have eyelids, so obviously they slept with their eyes open. But, slowly, the tip of the constrictor’s tail poked out and pointed to the species plaque again. Harry looked back at the writing and saw, ‘_Captive Bred. 11 years old.’ _

“Oh I see,” Harry said, nodding, “but hey, look at that, we’re almost the same age. That’s pretty neat.”

Harry wouldn’t say he was an expert at reading snake emotions, but this one seemed very amused. It nodded its head and Harry grinned. 

“You’re only eleven?” Came Nyanko’s muffled voice from the bag, and the boa constrictor slithered closer to the glass, looking at Harry’s backpack with interest. 

“I’m _ almost _eleven,” Harry corrected, unzipping the backpack just enough for Nyanko to poke the top his wide face out, then to the snake he said, “This is Nyanko. He’s a demon.”

“Nyanko-_sensei _, you fool.”

The boa nodded again, tasting the air with its tongue and coming even closer. Suddenly there was a shriek of excitement off to Harry’s right and both the snake and Harry whipped their heads around. 

“Dudley, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, come over here! You won’t believe what this snake is doing!” Piers cried, jittering on his toes and pointing. Dudley came barreling across the room toward the habitat. Harry tried to swiftly move out of the way and close his backpack at the same time, but Dudley still slammed into him. He tumbled to the concrete floor with a pained grunt, but then everything went crazy and it all seemed to happen at once. 

Dudley and Piers, who had pressed themselves up against the glass, were suddenly falling face first into the environment with terrified screams. The glass had completely vanished. The boa constrictor seemed even more surprised by this, but was swift to take advantage of the jarring situation, quickly slithering out of its habitat and onto the concrete for its grand escape. 

As the snake flew by, Harry heard a low hiss forming distinct words.

_ “Brazzzil here I come...thanksss ssspirit friend.” _

Harry lay, a bit shocked on the ground until his uncle came and yanked him up roughly by his arm, pulling him toward his terrified aunt and a very confused and apologetic zookeeper. 

There was not a doubt in his mind that he would be blamed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully Nyanko's 'switch' didn't seem too abrupt? Like he wants the book but he wasn't actually willing to kill for it. It's kind of abrupt in Natsume Yuujinchou, but I also feel like Nyanko has a soft spot for kiddos even if he didn't initially know how young Harry was. 11 is like, basically infancy honestly. 
> 
> Also I spent some thought on how Harry would get past zoo security before I realized security would have probably been like, basically nonexistent at this time. How the world has changed.
> 
> Still hoping to post once a week on either Thursdays or Saturdays, I should be able to keep up with that. Once again, alert me if you see any errors and I will fix them!


	3. There Was a Mushroom Spirit

Harry lay miserably on his bed on the evening of the zoo disaster, massaging his bruised shoulder and attempting to ignore the ringing in his ears. His uncle had grabbed his shoulder punishingly and thrown him into his cupboard with more vigor than usual. Harry’s latest stint of freakishness had earned him three clouts to the ears, two days without meals, and three weeks locked in the cupboard. 

He had almost gotten away with just a few suspicious glances thrown his way, but of course Piers _ had _ to mention that Harry had been talking to the snake just prior to the incident. Piers was such an annoying boy, only an inch taller and just as skinny as Harry, but he was just so _ mean. _Dudley had tried to insist he was fine, but he was clearly shaken by the incident. Harry had been surprised Dudley even pretended to be tough and hadn’t milked it like Piers had. The rat-like boy had told a dramatic tale about how the boa had lunged at his ankles with its sharp fangs and tried to poison him on the way by. 

Honestly, boa constrictors _ constricted. _They weren’t venomous.

Harry was just grateful Nyanko had taken the backpack and fled as soon as they arrived at the house. He was certain Uncle Vernon would have ripped the bag apart out of sheer spite and rage and he didn’t want to risk damaging the Book of Friends. 

Now he was staring at the pitched ceiling of his cupboard wondering just _ how _the glass had really disappeared. Harry hadn’t done anything, he knew that. Maybe a demon was nearby, messing with humans again? It was likely. 

He fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of green light and high scream. 

It was much later that Harry heard a noise outside his cupboard, something like feet scraping, dragging on the floor. It was an unusual noise, and he sat up immediately, facing the door with his back against the wall. His fists clenched as he heard the..._ thing _ shuffle around, like it was looking for something.

_ “Lily…,” _ A familiar voice rasped, and Harry sat as still as he could, not daring to breathe. “_Lily where are you? Give me my name.” _

The lock slid, metal on metal. Harry trembled. 

The door opened and One-Eye stood, furious and dripping drool outside of Harry’s cupboard. Harry tried not to scream but he wouldn’t have anyway; he was frozen in terror. He had never had something come for him like this in his cupboard before. 

“_Lily, there you are,” _ One-Eye cried._“Return it to me. Give it back.” _

A taloned hand reached slowly in to grab at him and Harry squeezed his eyes shut. 

But nothing ever came. There was a grunt and Harry opened his eyes to Nyanko in wolf form, One-Eye pinched in his teeth. He didn’t really fit in the hallway and was stuck trying not to move lest he knock down every picture on the walls. 

“_Madara!” _ The spirit screeched. “_Release me!” _

“_Leave. Never return to this place,” _the wolf said, clenching his jaw harder so the spirit howled in pain. “_The book is _ ** _mine_ ** _ .” _

He opened his maw just a little and the demon slipped through, whining as it blasted open the front door to escape. Madara quickly shifted back to a cat, unintentionally knocking a photo off the wall and sending it to pieces on the floor. 

“Well, far better than I’d hoped. It’s just one picture,” Nyanko said, trotting over to the front door and knocking it shut. He went back to Harry’s room and watched him carefully.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, because it seemed like the only thing _ to _say, even if it wasn’t true. 

Nyanko stared at him with blank, black eyes, then shut the cupboard door and locked it. Harry curled into himself and nestled his face into his knees, but looked up again when he heard Nyanko shimmying under the door. 

“Here,” Nyanko was holding the Book of Friends in his jaw and Harry wondered how he had gotten that under the door as well. The cat placed the book gently under the bed and hopped up next to Harry. The boy watched as a spider descended bravely from the ceiling on a web, coming to a stop beside Nyanko’s face. The cat batted it away without mercy.

“Your name is Madara?” Harry asked abruptly, then winced and apologized. 

“You don’t need to be sorry. That demon knew you would hear—that’s why they said it,” Nyanko folded his paws and watched Harry’s face. “Just knowing it won’t give you control over me. I’d have to _ give _it to you for that. It’s very different.”

“I see,” Harry didn’t really see.

“It’s the difference between showing someone you have a collar and clipping a leash to it and letting them lead,” Nyanko tried again, and Harry nodded slowly. “Most demons try to prevent humans from learning their names since it’s a bit annoying when they try to get your attention with it. It’s like a little yank at your fur. Although, most demons also won’t rat you out. So petty.” The cat sniffed, “Actually _ giving _ someone your name is a pretty big show of trust. Or stupidity. You can’t escape a summons then, and it gives the summoner complete control.”

“Why do you think my mum collected those names?” Harry asked. “Was she a control freak?”

“I think you can probably figure that out, so I won’t tell you,” Nyanko replied. Harry groaned, but he was starting to relax a bit, the shudders in his body settling down. 

“You can go back to the attic if you want,” Harry told the cat. “I’m better now. Thanks for saving me.” 

“I’ll stay here. If I lay on you while you sleep those bruises from your uncle should heal up overnight.” 

Harry was elated but didn’t dare show it. He snuggled into his ratty blanket and Nyanko settled down on his chest. He was a comforting weight...but a bit…

“You’re a bit too heavy,” Harry admitted. Nyanko narrowed his eyes. 

“Deal with it.”

Nyanko inexplicably stayed with Harry in the cupboard the whole three weeks, only leaving to get food or exercise. He would let Harry out at night so he could stretch and creep around the first floor of the house. It was a great way to sneak some food, since the Dursleys frequently forgot about him. There was also one night on the second week where Dudley abruptly pulled open the cupboard door, threw a sandwich at him, and slammed it shut again leaving Harry to pick tomato out of his hair. 

“What’s that about?” Harry asked Nyanko, nibbling on the crust. “Do you think it’s poisoned?”

“He feels guilty. Probably.”

“For what?”

“Who knows? Humans are strange.”

Harry stared suspiciously at the cat but that was the end of the conversation.

At the end of his three weeks, Harry emerged from his cupboard feeling like he’d never seen the outside world in daylight before. He would have kissed the floor if his uncle wouldn’t have slapped him. As it was, he took big gulps of air and tried to absorb all the sunlight he could through the windows during his chores.

The next few days were fairly uneventful. Harry brought Nyanko with him to the library and returned his now overdue books, claiming his aunt would pay the late fees another day (she wouldn’t). The local library had a few nasty spirits that usually lurked around, but Nyanko’s presence sent them packing. It was nice to be able to spend a few peaceful hours tucked away on a cushy armchair instead of hunched up on an uncomfortable church pew. 

Eventually, however, he was interrupted. 

“_Excuse me,” _a feminine voice broke the silence of the library. Harry and Nyanko both looked up from a book on Irish folklore to see a spirit wearing a flat wooden mask that was tied to her head with string. Her dress was simple and loose, and she smoothed her hands over the front nervously. Her hair was honey brown, long and braided quite neatly. Harry narrowed his eyes at her over his book. Nyanko shuffled so he was ready to defend the bag with the Book of Friends in it if needed. 

_ “I don’t mean to bother you Sir Madara,” _she began and both Harry and the cat were a bit surprised she wasn’t immediately screaming for Lily. In fact, she wasn’t paying attention to Harry at all. _ “The local spirits would like to formally congratulate you on your unsealing.” _ She curtsied, then added, “_As well as your new pet human.” _

“See, that’s respect,” Nyanko commented. Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Why am I... a pet?”

“Well, you’re either a pet or food with spirits,” Nyanko cackled. 

Harry sighed and looked back at the spirit, who didn’t seem to know how to react at first, but she collected herself.

_ “We would like to invite you to a formal celebration,” _ The spirit said, _“at the next summer solstice.” _

“That was like a month ago wasn’t it? So, it’s next year?” Harry said, more toward Nyanko but the spirit answered him.

“_It takes much time to prepare for a celebration of this magnitude,” _ She said, running her hands on the front of her dress again in what seemed to be a nervous habit. _ “You may, of course, bring your human as well, sir,” _she added, this time to Nyanko, “_though, I might recommend dressing him as a demon to avoid undue...attention.” _

“Attention?” Harry asked lightly.

“They’ll probably try to eat you,” The cat answered, just a hair too jovially. 

“G-great.”

“_Would Sir Madara be interested?” _The spirit inquired, clasping her hands. 

“Why not, it’s been a while since I’ve been to a party,” Nyanko said with cheer. “Make sure there is sake and dango! I miss the taste of home.”

“_I will let the local spirits know! They will be so excited! Thank you Sir Madara,” _she bowed deeply. _ “Call ‘Marionette’ if you ever have need of me.” _With that she turned and walked, straight-backed, away from the pair and disappeared behind a row of books. When she turned, Harry noticed a horse tail swishing behind her.

“Bit odd. Why’d she say her name in front of me?” Harry said, taking the incident as his cue to leave and collecting his books.

“She trusts you’re not trouble since you’re with me,” Nyanko told him, trying to crawl into Harry’s backpack himself but quickly becoming stuck. “Help! Oh, that’s better. Anyway I’m telling you spirits and demons don’t normally throw names around like this even though everyone seems to be trying to prove me wrong.” 

“I get it.”

Harry finished bagging up Nyanko and checked out the books he wanted. The woman working the front was part of Aunt Petunia’s usual gossip ring and she stared at Harry suspiciously, but he just ducked his head and ignored her. 

When Harry arrived back at Privet Drive in the late afternoon, his uncle was already barking orders at him. 

“Bring me the mail boy!”

Harry looked down at his feet as he stepped through the front door and rolled his eyes. Had they really been too lazy to get it themselves? It must’ve been sitting for hours. 

He obligingly picked it up when something caught his eye on the top of the stack. 

_ Mr H Potter _

_ The Cupboard under the stairs _

_ 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging _

“I’ve got mail?” Harry whispered with wide eyes, before hurriedly shoving it into the pocket of his shorts to read later. He scurried off to give his uncle the rest of the stack and went quickly to his cupboard. 

Once safe in his small room, Harry let Nyanko out and they both stared at the letter with some trepidation.

“They know I live in a cupboard,” Harry said. 

“It smells a bit funny,” Nyanko told him.

With nothing else to say, he unsealed the envelope. A mushroom with legs promptly tumbled out and landed on its head. Nyanko stepped on it. 

Harry grabbed it for a closer look and figured it was a forest spirit of sorts. White and shaped like a fungus, it squirmed in his hands, looking up at his with fearful black eyes embedded on its cap. 

“I don’t think he was meant to be part of the letter,” the cat said. Harry agreed and placed the mushroom down, watching as it wobbled around as if drunk.

“I won’t hurt you. Just sit tight and I’ll bring you outside when I can,” he told it, but he wasn’t sure if it understood. He turned back to the letter and slipped the paper out. 

Embossed on the top of the first page were the words '_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _’ Harry stared.

_ ‘Dear Mr. Potter _

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_ Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Minerva McGonagall _

_ Deputy Headmistress’ _

“Is this a prank?” 

“It’s not a prank,” the cat said, hopping onto Harry’s lap so he could see better. Harry adjusted his arms so there was room. 

“You think I’m a...wizard?” Harry asked doubtfully. It sure seemed like a joke to him. 

“I suspected you were. You asked me before how the cupboard door locked on its own and there was the instance with the glass at the zoo,” Nyanko said pointedly, “and I doubt that’s the only time you’ve done something weird..._ besides _seeing demons and spirits that is. That’s not normal for magical humans either, as far as I know.” They both watched as the mushroom spirit fell flat on its face again. 

Harry tried to think back to all the odd things he’d done, but everything potentially magical was mixed up with running frantically from spirits and trying not to cry when they startled him in class. 

“I think I turned my teacher’s hair blue once?”

“There you go,” the cat sat up straight, “magic.”

“You said you _ suspected_. Don’t demons and spirits have great senses or something? Why couldn’t you tell?” 

“Kid, half the demons you meet mistake you for your mother,” The cat said, voice dry, and Harry conceded to the point. “Look, there’s more on the back.”

Harry flipped the paper and saw a uniform description, book list, and supply list. 

“Where do I get this stuff? How do I accept? It says they await my owl?” Questions swam through Harry’s head. Oh god, he really was going to go gray before he turned twelve. 

“I don’t know anything about human magic,” Nyanko said simply. They were both at a bit of a loss. 

“Boy! Dinner!” His uncle yelled from the living room, and Harry sighed, tucked the letter back in its envelope, and resolved to think about it later.

\- -

It wasn’t much later before Harry was _ forced _to think about it. 

He stared in horror as the little mushroom spirit sprinted through the Dursley’s living room clutching his Hogwarts letter. Harry was in the middle of doling out macaroni onto his aunt’s plate, so he promptly closed his gaping mouth and looked away, trying not to draw attention to what would definitely appear to be a floating letter. 

Judging by the short shriek that quickly followed just as he had set the bowl down, he hadn’t been successful. 

As soon as it was noticed, the mushroom spirit dropped the letter and ran away in a panic. Uncle Vernon waddled over and snatched the letter up, going near apoplectic at what he saw, his face reddening to an unhealthy degree. 

“What is it, dear?” Aunt Petunia asked, but her own face had rapidly paled, like she already knew and was just waiting for the guillotine to drop.

“This-_ this _—,” His uncle started but couldn’t finish, shoving the letter at Aunt Petunia. She scanned the front of the envelope and, if it was somehow possible, grew even paler. 

“How did they—,” She spoke, her voice barely a sound, before her eyes snapped up to meet his uncle’s, “—put him in Dudley’s second bedroom. Have him move _ tonight _.” Uncle Vernon nodded, his expression twisted. 

Harry watched uncertainly and with no small amount of fear as events unfolded. 

“Quick, move it _ boy,” _his uncle snarled, angrier than Harry had ever seen. He pushed Harry hard causing the small boy to spin and fall back onto the floor, clipping his hip on the corner of the wall. “Put your things in Dudley’s second bedroom.”

Harry scrambled backward and practically ran to his cupboard, putting pressure on his now aching hip. Thankfully his uncle wasn’t planning on watching him, since he sat back down to eat. 

Harry sent Nyanko up the stairs first, before grabbing the rest of his worldly possessions. He was a bit disappointed it only took two trips, and the second trip was mostly library books. He heard Dudley complaining about giving up his second bedroom but his aunt and uncle were pretty much ignoring him. 

Once settled, Harry didn’t feel very accomplished. He’d always wanted a proper bedroom with a proper bed, but he’d give it up in a heartbeat if he could have that letter back. 

“Finally decided to put you in a room, huh?” Nyanko said. “I _ knew _ that humans didn’t keep their young in cupboards. I looked in all the houses around the block, and no one else was doing it.”

Harry sighed. 

He’d just begun cleaning up all of the broken toys that littered the room when his uncle suddenly shoved his face in. Nyanko promptly rolled under the bed and out of sight. 

“_There’s no such thing as magic! _” His uncle spit, sounding remarkably like a demon, before slamming the door. 

Harry sighed once more. 

Once he’d made the room livable, Harry flopped onto the mattress with Nyanko beside him. He stroked the cat’s fur absently as he turned his head to stare out the window. 

“I can see the stars,” he remarked. Nyanko purred.

Off to the side, Harry heard a little squeak and his eyes alighted on the sheepish figure of the mushroom spirit. It was kicking its little, toeless feet and looking at him with small, wet eyes. 

“Apology accepted,” Harry whispered, offering it a hand. The mushroom climbed up his arm and settled on top of his chest, leaning on its hands beside him. It still looked quite contrite. 

“Tell him I said its fine,” Harry said, elbowing Nyanko who barely stirred. 

“I dun’ speak mushroom.” 

Harry huffed and used one finger to gently rub the mushroom’s cap. It squinted its eyes and leaned into the touch.

“What should I call you?” Harry asked himself. Then, after he’d paused for a second, “How do you feel about Mushi?”

Mushrooms couldn’t smile, but Harry thought watching it light up with a faint green glow was probably as close as it could get. 

\- -

The Dursleys, it seemed, could not escape the letters.

Every day they showed up in new and interesting ways. More came down through the mail slot, now addressed to,_ ‘Mr. H Potter, The Smallest Bedroom,’ _ but after Uncle Vernon had boarded that up they began squeezing in through the cracks of windows, growing out of potted plants, and arriving curled up in the eggs. If Harry hadn’t believe in magic before, he certainly did once he went to cook breakfast, cracked an egg, and caught a letter on fire in the frying pan.

_ This is getting a bit silly _, He thought, when almost 40 letters came flying down the fireplace and covered the whole first floor of number 4 Privet Drive. 

His uncle seemed to take it as a challenge, coming up with equally as creative ways to try and thwart the letters and destroy them in vindictive ways. He burned them, mowed over them, threw them in the food processor, used them as kindling, and used all sorts of other interesting manners of destruction. 

On the fifth day his uncle seemed to have had enough, and he packed the whole family and their luggage into the car to escape to a hotel. Harry stubbornly fought to bring Nyanko, doubtful that he could hide the cat in a shared hotel room, and bore with a few swats to the head until his uncle reluctantly agreed.

So, with Nyanko in Harry’s arms and Mushi in his pocket, the family bundled into a hotel for the night, a smug expression planted on his Uncle’s face. 

It fell when hotel staff alerted him to the fact that 100 letters had arrived for a mister H Potter, and would he please come fetch the whole lot? 

They drove around for ages, acting like fleeing criminals trying to throw the cops off their trail. They made it to the shore, where his uncle started\ bartering with a gray, bearded man smoking a pipe. Harry thought it couldn’t mean anything positive when his uncle returned and gestured to a rickety wooden boat bobbing by a small dock.

“Vernon, you can’t be serious,” his aunt said flatly, but his uncle’s eyes sparkled with manic light. 

As Harry lay on the stone floor in the middle of a shack in the middle of a rock in the middle of a lake in the middle of _ nowhere _, he stared at the leaky wood ceiling above him and wondered how his life got the way it was. 

_ Turning eleven isn’t supposed to be this eventful, _ Harry thought.

Nyanko seemed to be in a state of shock, laying protectively over the bag holding the Book of Friends, eyes wide with complete disbelief at the series of events that had unfolded around him. Harry pet him sympathetically and tried his best to sleep, but it didn’t come. It didn’t help that there was some sort of spidery demon stuck to the top of the ceiling. It was masked but he could tell it was glaring at them. 

_ “Get out of my shack,” _it hissed. “_Shoo, shoo!” _

Harry just shrugged helplessly and lay there, unable to sleep.

And so it happened that at approximately midnight while a storm raged above him and water dripped steadily down around him, Harry was completely awake when an enormous, bearded man kicked down the front door of the small shack and stooped low to enter. The man was far too large to be human and Harry initially thought he must be a demon, but a quick glance at his horrified relatives told him the large man was visible to all. He wore a long leather coat with several pockets and patchy trousers held up with a worn belt. In his hand he clasped a dingy pink umbrella. His beard and mustache covered his whole mouth, so Harry couldn’t tell if he was smiling or squinting at them. The man propped the door back in its frame—it had come completely off its hinges.

“‘Arry!” The man cried, headed straight for him. Harry immediately scuttled backward and away. 

Nyanko hopped defensively in front of him. The man hesitated and something like hurt ran across his dark eyes.

“Who—?” Harry began to ask, but his uncle seemed to regain his voice. 

“Now see here—!” He raged but with a wave of the man’s pink umbrella, his uncle’s mouth was firmly taped shut. He scrabbled at it with his large fingers to no avail. Aunt Petunia squeaked. 

“M’ name’s Rebeus Hagrid,” the giant said, kneeling and giving him a kind smile. Streaks of gray ran through the man’s thick brown beard. “I’m the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. I’ve com’ to fetch ye since no one had heard from ye. Weren't ye gettin’ yer letters?” 

“I got a lot, but I only opened one,” Harry said shyly. “I couldn’t really...respond.” He bit his lip and deliberately didn’t look at his relatives, but Hagrid clearly knew what had happened and the giant’s mouth stretched in disapproval. 

“Well then, ye already know yer’ goin to Hogwarts if that what yer want,” Hagrid said, transitioning into a broad grin. The man reached a hand out slowly, like he was approaching a hurt animal, and Harry took it tentatively. Hagrid’s large, calloused hand completely dwarfed his own, and Harry was gently pulled up onto his feet. Nyanko, more relaxed now that there was no immediate danger, hopped onto Harry’s head. Harry leaned to pick up his bag and tucked it under his arm securely. 

“Yeah—I—are you sure it’s no mistake?” He asked. It just seemed so improbable—going off to a school to learn magic. Nyanko slapped Harry’s head with a paw. 

“Mistake?” Hagrid seemed very confused. “No I don’t think yer a squib. Yer parents were fine wizards. They went to Hogwarts as well, course.”

“My parents were wizards too?” Harry took a moment to picture Lily waving a pink umbrella around. 

A thunderous look swept across Hagrid’s face. His beady eyes locked onto Harry’s relatives. Dudley, who had been quiet for the whole exchange and rotating between looking warily at his father and Hagrid, curled in the corner to escape the man’s dangerous gaze. Uncle Vernon made a few distressed noises under his tape. 

“They never told yer ‘bout yer parents?” Hagrid said quietly to Harry, who flinched. “What do yer know about magic?”

“I—don’t uh—,” Harry stuttered, “—O-only what the letter said. Sorry!” Nyanko hit Harry’s head again. 

“Sorry?” Barked Hagrid, “It’s them as should be sorry!” Upon noticing Harry trembling the man visibly forced himself to calm down. “Yer don’t know _ anything?” _

Harry figured the giant wasn’t talking about his standard education so he shook his head no, but a little sliver of defensiveness ran through him. Hagrid let out a stream of breath and closed his eyes, fists shaking. Harry recognized the look of sheer fury from all the times it had been directed at him, so he took a quick step back. 

“Yer famous in our world ‘Arry,” Hagrid said, dragging a big hand down his big face. He looked down at the boy. “Because of what happened to yer parents. I’ll tell yah more when we’re out of this place. I woulda _ liked _to have a rest but.” Hagrid eyed the leaky walls. 

“So, what now?” Harry asked. _ Why would I be famous from a car accident? _Harry wondered. 

“Now we go get ye fitted out as a proper wizard. It’s off to London,” the man collected the last of his good humor and released a booming laugh, shuffling around his pockets. “Now, where did I put th’ blasted—ah—her’ we go.” Hagrid suddenly presented him with a slightly smushed, chocolate cake. Written in shaky icing on the top were the words, ‘_Happy Birthday Harry _.’ Hagrid beamed at him.

“Ah bit squished I’d say, but never mind tha’,” Hagrid leaned in. “Happy Birthday ‘Arry.”

Harry, who had never had a birthday present, cradled the cake like it was a precious gem and beamed back.

They left the shack, both deliberately ignoring the sounds of Aunt Petunia’s screeching. Harry was sure it was just the usual about being an abnormal freak. They headed toward a slightly more sturdy looking dingy than the one Uncle Vernon had rented. As they approached, Harry noticed a kindly old man perched on one seat, waving at them. He had a wispy white beard and small eyes. 

“Who’s that?” Harry asked, pointing and then giving a little wave back.

“Who’s who?” 

“Ah. Well, um, Nevermind.” 

Harry climbed into the boat across from the old man who wouldn’t stop smiling at him. He was giving Nyanko a run for his money. Hagrid turned and gave the side of the boat two taps with his pink umbrella and they were off, speeding through the water. Harry clutched his bag close.

“Who’s yer friend? Lovely lil beastie,” Hagrid asked eyeing the top of Harry’s head. 

“This is Nyanko,” Harry reached up to pat the fat calico. Nyanko batted his hand away and resumed eyeing the old man across from them. Now that Harry looked a bit closer, there was a lidded third eye sitting in the center of the man’s head. 

“Good name,” Hagrid said, nodding, hands twitching a bit like he wanted to pet the cat. 

“Yes, well, he picked it,” Harry knotted his fingers togethers. “So, you, uh, you knew my p-parents?”

“Fine people they were,” Hagrid said, looking a bit grim. “Shame abou’ what happened.” 

Harry thought about how his aunt and uncle had apparently known about magic and kept it from him. Had they—lied about his parents too?

“What happened?” Harry asked. He could see the shoreline in the distance, approaching relatively quickly due to their magical propulsion.

“They didn’ even—I can’t believe they didn’—,” Hagrid sighed again, “—it’s not really summat for me to explain...but someone has got to do it.”

And so Hagrid wove a tale of death, telling Harry about how his parents had fought against the Dark Lord Voldemort, and were murdered trying to save, to _ protect _ , Harry. Mysteriously, when the evil man had cast the killing curse on Harry, the unblockable, infallible spell _ had _failed, and rebounded back at the Dark Lord, killing him instantly. The unsightly lightning bolt scar that sat upon his forehead was the remnant, and apparently everyone in the wizarding world knew of it.

“Yer famous cause yeh saved us all ‘Arry,” Hagrid told him, helping him out of the dingy. 

Harry felt a little numb. What did he do that was so special? He lived, that was all. That wasn’t something pleasant to be famous for. 

Not to mention that famous meant attention, and the last thing Harry wanted were eyes on him whenever he jumped at a shadow in the corner of a room. He looked back at the dingy and the old man that had been with them was gone. 

“Now I’m afraid we’ll have to catch a late train and sleep on tha’,” Hagrid said. “Ah woulda stayed at the shack but—well, I was a bit angry and I didn’t want to go off on yer relatives an scare ya.” Hagrid flushed. “And am not ‘xactly sposed to be performing magic since ah...never really finished at Hogwarts meself. If we could keep ma little tricks to ourselves it’d be a mighty help.” Harry let a small smile creep over his face and nodded. Hagrid had been angry at his relatives _ for _him. That was nice. He did wonder why exactly Hagrid hadn’t finished his education, but he figured he could always ask another time. 

“Lemme just owl the headmaster and let ‘im know yeh want to go to Hogwarts,” Hagrid told him, pulling a rumpled looking bird out of his pocket, a piece of paper, and a stub of charcoal. “‘E was the one that sent me when ‘e saw yeh opened yer letter but weren’t respondin.”

After the owl was sent off, Hagrid and Harry made their way to the local train station and bought 3:00 a.m. tickets for the next train to London. The female attendant gave them highly suspicious looks.

As they waited on a bench, Hagrid tipped his head back and fell asleep, snoring loudly. Harry took Nyanko down from his head and gave the cat a weak smile. Mushi climbed out of Harry’s pocket, tottering onto his lap and plopping down. He pet the mushroom’s head delicately. 

“A lot happened,” Harry said quietly. 

“That was ridiculous,” Nyanko replied. “Your uncle is nuts. And my fur is damp.” The cat seemed far more disgruntled by the latter. 

“Yeah...I’m not looking forward to going back tomorrow,” Harry rubbed the back of his head. 

“You shouldn’t let yourself get smacked around like that. Beat them up!” Nyanko curled one paw into a furry fist and shook it. Harry giggled.

“I can’t do that, my uncle would clobber me!” 

“Then let me beat him up!” 

“I can’t let _ you _do that either.” 

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

  
Harry giggled, slumping down on the bench until he was practically laying down, humming under his breath until he fell into a light slumber. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Hagrid's accent is just as hard as people make it out to be. I did my best.


	4. There Was a Demon in the Robe Shop

Hagrid and Harry stumbled off the train and into London fairly early in the morning. Harry wasn’t sure if the odd looks they were getting were for their rumpled appearances, Hagrid’s immense height, or the fat cat stuck to Harry’s head like a leech. Probably all of the above. 

It was amazing to watch the streets of London clear the way they did when Hagrid took the lead.

“We’re off ter the Leaky Cauldron and then we’ll go get yer some gold to pay fer yer school supplies,” Hagrid said over his shoulder. Harry pinched the back of the man’s coat and kept a firm grip as they moved through the early morning crowds. 

“Wait—I don’t have any money,” Harry said, startled and very certain that the Dursleys wouldn’t pay for _ any _of this. They wouldn’t even pay his overdue library books fees, and they were the only reason he could never seem to return the books on time. 

“Don’ worry yer pretty head,” Hagrid told him, suddenly sweeping a massive arm out and dragging Harry up beside him to pat his shoulder. “Yer parents left ye plenty o’ gold at Gringotts.”

Harry had no clue what Gringotts was, but Hagrid wasn’t much for explaining things it seemed. 

They eventually came to stand before a dark, dingy pub with a worn wooden sign of a cauldron hanging out front. Hagrid pulled him them both in, and Harry leveled a gaze around the restaurant. It wasn’t exactly busy, it being so early, but there was a smattering of patrons slumped over their mugs. They were all dressed very strangely, wearing odd robes in various colors. One man even had a pointed hat perched on the back of his chair. It was like jolting back in time and into a fantasy land.

There was a plain, heavy set man polishing glasses behind the bar. He gave them a nod.

“‘Ello Tom,” Hagrid called in his booming voice, startling a few unconscious people awake, “has it been busy?”

“I think you might just dodge the rush. It’s still early,” Tom replied. His eyes drifted over to Harry but Nyanko was on top of his head, pressing his tangled hair down to cover his (apparently famous) forehead. Nonetheless, Harry ducked and hid his face in Hagrid’s coat in case he was recognized. Tom gave a warm chuckle. 

Hagrid led them to the alley behind the bar where Hagrid tapped a few bricks in a specific sequence on the wall. It opened up to reveal Harry’s first experience with the wizarding world. 

It was colorful and chaotic, bustling with life even early in the morning. The shops had quirky slanted roofs with little chimneys puffing smoke and the wide glass windows advertising their wares. Witches and wizards passed him by, robes swishing behind them, laden down with bags. 

It was wonderful...but it was also filled to the brim with demons.

“Oh geez,” Nyanko murmured above him, and Harry couldn’t help but agree. It seemed that everywhere he looked there was a masked man with horns or a one-eyed fish swimming through the air. A man with black wings and bird feet perched on top one of the tallest shops, laughing jovially with a pig man wearing a little hat. Harry rotated his bag from where it was hanging behind him to tucking it under his armpit. He was beginning to think he should get a messenger bag. 

“_Lily…,” _A voice tittered from above as the green head of an ogre-like creature with a high voice floated overhead. Harry shuddered.

“Don’t fret human, I’m super strong,” Nyanko said, paws slipping down as he attempted to hug Harry’s whole head. It was probably the nicest thing the cat had done, and Harry tried to relax his muscles. 

“Yer alright there?” Hagrid asked, black eyes bright with concern. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Gringotts right?” Harry said, trying to force away the fear cracking his voice. 

Hagrid didn’t look convinced, but he led them through the street. An early morning fog was settled along the cobblestones, dampening the air and clinging to Harry’s clothes. They passed a variety of marvelous shops that Harry longed to enter, selling owls and broomsticks and the most magical things Harry had ever laid eyes on. 

Gringotts was an enormous, marble building gilded with silver and gold at the end of Diagon Alley. It seemed to glitter next to the other shops on the street, and Harry felt he should be wearing sunglasses. Nyanko whistled above him. 

Carved into the great doors was an ominous warning.

_ “Enter, stranger, but take heed _

_ Of what awaits the sin of greed, _

_ For those who take, but do not earn, _

_ Must pay most dearly in their turn. _

_ So if you seek beneath our floors _

_ A treasure that was never yours, _

_ Thief, you have been warned, beware _

_ Of finding more than treasure there.” _

“Any wizard would be insane to try and rob Gringotts,” Hagrid told the boy next to him as they entered. 

“Is that a challenge?” Nyanko grinned. Harry rolled his eyes. It wasn’t much of a challenge if you were a spirit anyway; you could just walk in.

“Do yeh hear that?” Hagrid said, whipping around. “Ah keep hearin’ a buzzin’ noise.”

“No, I haven’t heard anything,” Harry said, a bit too quickly. Clearly Hagrid had at least some spiritual sensitivity. He reached up and gave Nyanko a little boop, “Maybe you’re hearing Nyanko purr?”

“Purr?!” Nyanko exclaimed in deep offense. 

“That’s prob’ly it,” Hagrid said, satisfied. 

They moved through the lobby of the bank and approached one of the tellers sitting at a tall wooden desk. He looked like some sort of demon: short, rumpled, pointy and writing in a big ledger. If the bank wasn’t so obviously oriented around the creatures then Harry would have pretended he didn’t notice them. 

“Goblins,” Nyanko whispered down to him. 

“We need to get into ‘Arry here’s vault,” Hagrid said. “Ah also have a letter ‘ere from Headmaster Dumbledore.”

The goblin seemed generally unamused by them, and even less so when Hagrid had to dig through almost everything in his pockets to find Harry’s vault key. Harry flushed a bit as a line grew behind them.

“Aha!” Hagrid cried when he finally emerged with a dull, heavy gold key and a piece of parchment. He presented them proudly to the goblin who looked them over with more disdain packed into one expression than Aunt Petunia could hope to manifest in a year. 

“Everything _ seems _to be in order,” the goblin announced, before flicking a silver bell on his desk. 

Another goblin appeared, looking just as unamused as the first. Harry was beginning to think that was just the way their faces were. 

“Griphook, lead these two...gentleman to their vaults,” the first goblin commanded. Griphook nodded sharply and crooked his finger. They were led back through a hallway and into a narrow tunnel that held what appeared to be a railway cart. 

“I’d better sit in the back ‘Arry. I’m not too good with this part,” Hagrid eyed the cart in front of them with blatant trepidation. Griphook grinned meanly, exposing a row of sharp teeth. 

Harry figured they couldn’t see the brown, slug-like creature clinging to the bottom of the cart. It didn’t seem very natural, but he also didn’t think his grasp on ‘natural’ was very good at the moment. 

They piled into the cart and Griphook eyed Nyanko who was still clinging to Harry’s nest of hair.

“You might want to hold your pet,” Griphook said, looking for all the world like the act of being considerate was paining him. Harry nodded and removed Nyanko to cradle him in his lap. They then blasted off along the tracks, air whooshing by as Griphook adjusted a lever to direct the cart. It was what Harry imagined a rollercoaster would be like, and he grinned madly the whole way, ignoring the way Nyanko’s claws dug into his thighs. 

They stopped at the door to an enormous vault. 

Harry stared at the piles of gold inside, green eyes impossibly wide. There were _mountains _stacked to the _ ceiling. _Harry had never known that much money existed, let alone in one place.

“This-this was all my parents’?” Harry asked in wonder. 

“It’s yers now,” Hagrid said, walking up to stand behind him, still looking faintly green from the cart ride. Nyanko, for his part, immediately dove onto one of the piles and began to roll around.

“We’re rich!” He cried. “We can buy all the sake and dango we want! All the fish! We’re rich!”

Griphook scratched at his ear, looking a bit disgruntled. 

“Come on you great lump,” Harry said, laughing and picking Nyanko up. “How much do we need Hagrid? I’m afraid I don’t know how it works.” 

Hagrid grinning and picked a few coins out of the pile, explaining the nonsensical money system as they went. 

“One more stop,” Hagrid said, nodding to Griphook as they made their way back to the cart. 

The next stop didn’t take long, but the vault was much deeper in the bank. Harry swore he saw a flash of fire as they whizzed by, but it might have been his imagination. 

Whatever Hagrid had come to retrieve, it was obviously very important. Unlike Harry’s vault, Griphook had to be the one to open it. It was the only thing in the vault, small and wrapped in cloth, and Harry gave it a dubious look while the big man hustled in and out. 

“What is it?” Harry asked. 

“Don’ worry about it. Hogwarts business,” was the only answer he received. Harry could practically feel Nyanko’s eyes narrowing. 

\- -

“We need to get you fitted for yer robes ‘Arry,” Hagrid said as they exited the bank. He was looking positively green from the railcar ride and Harry eyed the giant warily as he swayed slightly. “I think I might jus’...pop over to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink and come back ter fetch yer when yer done.”

Harry just nodded and Hagrid led them to a squat gray building with a large maroon sign proclaiming ‘_ Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.’ _There were a large pair of gold scissors on the sign that made a snipping potions every now and again. Harry felt a little overwhelmed, but a gentle nudge from Hagrid had him tumbling into the shop with Nyanko on his heels. 

The shop was small and cozy, with white plaster walls and golden hardwood floors. Morning light poured in through large windows near the roof. No one else was in the shop, and Harry was quickly ushered onto a short podium where measurement tools started flying about his face and disorienting him. Madam Malkin was a plump woman with a flushed, happy face and wispy brown hair tucked into a bun. She bustled around the place gathering fabric and pins.

In the corner of the shop loomed a twiggy, shadowy spirit wearing a bone white mask. It didn’t even cast Harry a look—it just kept an eye on Malkins’ busy figure.

“Oh wait just one moment dear—I seem to have misplaced my awl,” The woman muttered. 

Harry glanced at the spirit when it started moving, stretching its formless body upward toward the roof. Harry flinched and Malkin spared him a concerned glance, but the spirit only craned its neck and reached a long arm to one corner of the room, plucking an odd wooden instrument from a pile of fabric. Each movement of the spirit sounded like a creaking board, and it retracted its arm and surreptitiously placed the awl on the front table when Madam Malkin’s back was turned. 

The woman continued to fumble around for her awl and the spirit shifted in distress. Harry coughed for her attention.

“Er, ma’am, is that it?” He pointed to the tool on the front desk. Madam Malkin gave a little ‘_ oh!’ _and hurried over, thanking him profusely. Harry looked at the spirit again and it inclined its head in solemn thanks.

The robe fitting went on, with Nyanko watching in amusement from near the door as Harry twitched and shifted, trying to stay still. He was doing his best to appreciate the experience since he’d never had new clothes before, but after being stuck with a pin for the 6th time his positive attitude was flagging. 

The bell on the door tinkled and Harry looked up to see an imposing older woman enter. She was quite tall, a fact made more obvious by the large, wide brimmed hat sat atop her head, and she had to duck to enter the shop. The hat was decorated with large feathers, silk flowers, and embroidered around the top. Her robes were emerald green and trimmed with fur—definitely more eccentric and luxurious than what Harry had already seen around the alley. Behind her trailed a rather plump, shy looking boy with blonde hair and wide blue eyes. 

“Tell Madam Malkin what you’re here for Neville,” the woman snipped, looking down her beakish nose at the boy behind her. 

“Um—hello Madam Malkin I’m here for my Hogwarts robes,” the boy recited, eyes glued to his feet.

“Eyes up, Neville!” Neville’s eyes snapped up. “Good. I will be back in 20 minutes to pick you up. Make sure you are prepared.” The tall woman ducked back out of the shop and bustled back down the street in the direction of Gringotts, heels clicking on the cobblestones. 

Neville hopped up on the podium next to Harry, casting furtive glances at him from beneath his blonde fringe.

“Are you—um, are you going to Hogwarts too?” Neville said, finally lifting his head to look properly at Harry.

“Y-yes,” Harry answered a bit nervously, watching as Nyanko started batting a loose string around the shop and quirking an awkward smile. “I’m going to be a first year.”

“Oh, me too!” The boy brightened slightly. 

“Yeah, you’re name’s Neville right? Maybe we’ll have classes together.”

“Yeah, my name’s Neville Longbottom. We might have classes together if we’re in the same house,” Neville seemed nervous again, wincing a bit as Madam Malkin’s assistant, a thin girl with brunette hair, started poking him with needles too. “What’s your name?”

“Harry Potter.” 

Neville’s jaw went slack and the girl fitting him jerked and lost her balance, ending up on her backside staring at him in awe. 

“_Harry Potter?” _Neville squeaked. 

Harry grew very uncomfortable, and he could feel a bright blush working its way up his cheeks. 

“Marie, pick your jaw up off the floor,” Madam Malkin snapped suddenly. “Conduct yourself with decorum around our guests.” Her curt words seemed to snap both Marie and Neville out of their stupor and they immediately flushed and straightened up. Madam Malkin turned to Harry, a stack of black fabric in her arms.

“Here you are dearie,” she said, summoning a paper bag with a flick of her wand and sliding the robes in before handing it to him. Harry mumbled his thanks, still very embarrassed. 

The door tinkled and Hagrid’s large form blocked the doorway. 

“‘Ello ‘Arry. Pass these to Madam Malkin would you?” Harry collected some coins from Hagrid and handed them off to the plump woman. She thanked him and wished him well, so Harry paused so Nyanko could leap onto his head and went to leave.

“Um—see you at Hogwarts Harry!” Came a wobbly voice from behind him. “I-I hope we see each other on the train!” 

Harry gave him a timid smile and nodded before hurrying away, grabbing onto the back of Hagrid coat like a limpet. The spirit in the corner waved as they left. 

“Humans are so strange,” Nyanko commented. Harry couldn’t help but agree. 

Once Harry was back on the street, Harry saw why Hagrid didn’t want to enter the shop. He was clutching two ice cream cones in one of his big hands, and he gave Harry one, the cone wrapped in a napkin.

“It’s a bit early in the mornin fer it but oh well. I thought vanilla was a safe bet,” Hagrid said. He waved Harry’s profuse thanks away. 

So far, Hagrid had been the kindest anyone had ever been to Harry. He was patient, answered Harry’s questions, gave him a birthday present, and bought him ice cream. It was all so _ nice _, and Harry kept expecting someone tell him it was a dream and dump him back in his cupboard, snatching it all away from him. But nothing like that happened, and Harry quietly ate his ice cream, giving Nyanko a lick every now and again as well. 

They continued shopping, with Harry asking Hagrid the occasional question about the wizarding world as they went. He learned about Quidditch, and about the four houses of Hogwarts. They were in Flourish and Blotts waiting to check out while Hagrid explained.

“Gryffindors are known fer bein brave, Slytherins are known fer being cunning, Ravenclaw fer smarts and Hufflepuff fer loyalty and, well, everythin' else.” Hagrid told him. Harry bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, watching as small spirits shaped like fuzzballs swarmed over the books Hagrid was holding.

“You don’t sound like any of those,” Nyanko snickered and Harry’s shoulders slumped. He wasn’t brave, cunning, smart, or loyal. Would they be able to sort him? Would he be kicked out if they couldn’t sort him?

“Don’t yer worry about it,” Hagrid said, noticing Harry’s mood and patting Harry on the back, almost knocking him into the counter. “Whoops.”

As they went to leave, Harry noticed a fidgety man wearing a tall purple turban hovering by the window display. Hagrid noticed him as well and stopped by him, giving the man a warm smile.

“Hello there Profess’r Quirrell,” Hagrid said, “out fer some shoppin’? I here taking Harry ‘round.” He gestured towards Harry who gave a tentative wave. 

“V-v-very nice t-t-to m-meet you H-harry Potter,” Professor Quirrell said, but he wasn’t looking at Harry’s face, his eyes wandering to the scar on Harry’s forehead that Nyanko was keeping covered. The man reached a shaky hand out and Harry shook it. His fingers were cold.

“Profess’r Quirrell here will be yer Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts,” Hagrid explained. 

“Y-yes, I l-l-looked f-f-forward t-to seeing you t-t-there,” Professor Quirrell stuttered out. Harry stuttered sometimes when he was nervous, but Quirrell stuttered more than anyone Harry had ever heard.

They parted with a few cursory well wishes and Hagrid led them both out.

“Poor sod, nerves have been shot since he came up against some vampires in Albania,” Hagrid told him, shaking his head. Harry tried very hard not to think about the existence of vampires. 

They continued shopping, fetching Harry a cauldron, scales, and a large trunk to store all of Harry things. At each shop Hagrid asked them to shrink their goods and make them weightless, and Harry watched in amazement when everything became small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. While they were picking a trunk, Harry lingered around a small selection of brown canvas messenger bags, eyeing his ratty drawstring bag with distaste. 

“It would be much better for protecting the Book of Friends. Harder to slip it out while your back is turned,” Nyanko said.

“I know,” Harry murmured. 

“Want one of those?” Hagrid voice startled him and Harry jumped about a foot in the air. 

“Uh-well, if I could?” Harry asked, rubbing his arm. Nyanko bopped him on the forehead with a paw. 

“O’ course yer can, ‘Arry!” Hagrid said, his voice colored with surprise. He helped pick one out that didn’t look silly up against Harry’s small frame and they went to pay at the front. The jolly looking man at the register gave Harry’s drawstring bag a venomous look and had him transfer everything right there. 

“This is much better,” Nyanko said as they exited the shop, Harry’s new bag bumping against his side as he walked. “We can keep an eye on it better.” Harry grinned. 

“Well, ‘spose all that’s left is your wand,” Hagrid said ahead of them, and they stopped in front of a small, unassuming store with wide glass windows. On the sign above written in faded, ornate cursive it said _ ‘Ollivanders - Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 BC.’ _In the window a single wand sat on a dusty purple cushion. It was underwhelming, but Harry was too excited by the idea of a wand to let anything deter him. 

Harry jittered with nerves as he entered the shop. Hagrid entered behind him and went to perch on a single chair in the corner while Nyanko jumped to the floor to take up post by the window. The wand shop was the most magical thing Harry had seen. It was dimly lit and filled from floor to ceiling with stacks and stacks of narrow boxes,lined haphazardly up along the tall shelves. The counter was very tall and wooden, carved with pictures of dragons and majestic birds. The shop was also full of the small fuzzball spirits Harry had seen flitting about Flourish and Blotts. _ Perhaps they like all the paper and cardboard, _Harry thought. 

“Good afternoon,” Came a soft voice and Harry felt himself leaping in fright for about the fifth time that day. An old man came out from behind the counter dressed in a striped shirt and trousers, wide eyes focused solely on Harry in the gloom of the shop. He seemed to be looking at his forehead, seeing past Harry’s wild fringe to the scar below.

“Ah, yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter. You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work. She also brought along...interesting friends.” The man stared hauntingly at Nyanko who stared right back with slitted black eyes, grinning his soft, cheshire grin. 

Mr. Ollivander drifted closer. The man didn’t seem to ever blink, but thankfully that was a quirk Harry was used to dealing with with Nyanko. Harry was used to the odd demon cat, but he could acknowledge that Nyanko’s narrow-eyed stare was objectively creepy. 

“Your father favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course,” Mr. Ollivander gave a small, thin smile that indicated he had said that same phrase many times before and it wasn’t nearly as fun to say as it used to be.

Ollivander attempted to come even closer but Harry took two quick steps back. The man was nonplussed, only locking his misty eyes onto Harry’s scarred forehead and tracing the lightning shape in the air.

“I am sorry to say I sold the want that did it,” he said softly, a bit of something like guilt moving across his lined face. “Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… Well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do...,”

“Y-you couldn’t have known,” Harry blurted out, not very sure why he was speaking. Ollivander paused and gave Harry an odd look. “I just mean—you make wands and you sell them but after that it’s up the people and—,” Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, “people aren’t always very nice.”

“No. They aren’t,” Ollivander said, his round eyes considering. After a moment, he turned and headed back behind the counter, hopping up onto the tall ladder that reached across the shelves. He snapped his fingers and a tape measurer darted out, flying around Harry and measure everything from his nose to his waist.

“Which is your wand arm, Mr. Potter?” 

“Um, well I write with my right arm.”

“Hmm,” the man hummed, grabbing several boxes and sliding back down to where Harry was. “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. Typically, we use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. Other magical substances tend to become...unstable, and more finicky. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two magical creatures are the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”

Harry nodded, a bit dizzy as Ollivander removed one of the wands from the boxes and handed it to him, “Try this, Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just give it a wave.”

Harry hesitantly gave the wand a flick like he’d seen the shopkeepers do when shrinking the packages. Abruptly, a glass paperweight sitting on Mr. Ollivanders desk cracked in half.

“Sorry!” Harry yelped. Ollivander waved him off, sorting some of the wands out of the pile.

“Worry not, Mr. Potter, it only means it wasn’t right for you. Now try this—unicorn hair and Cherrywood, very springy,” A wave and half the boxes flew off the counter and onto the floor. 

“Maple and phoenix feather,” Ollivander tried next, but this one was snatched away before Harry could even try it. 

“Tricky, tricky,” Mr. Ollivander muttered, but his face was lit with glee. The pile of boxes climbed ever higher and voice was niggling in the back of Harry’s mind, saying, ‘_ they got it wrong, your not a wizard, you’re just a weird little boy who sees things.’ _

“Hmm, I wonder…,” Mr. Ollivander said, pulling out another box, longer and dustier than the rest. “Perhaps...no, try this one first.” He handed Harry another wand. “Holly and phoenix feather, nice and supple.” 

Harry took it but didn’t wave it. A cold bolt of ice ran up his arm, and he winced.

“N-not this one,” He said, handing it back. Ollivander’s gaze burned with blatant curiosity. “I-I don’t know, it feels wrong.” 

“Then perhaps…,” Ollivander stared a Nyanko for a half second before bringing out the dusty box he had picked up before. “This is an unusual combination, very unusual, Mr. Potter. I was made before my time. Willow and thestral hair—an uncommon, but not unheard of, core. 11 inches, very flexible. It is, perhaps, the wand for someone who _ sees _ what others do not.” Harry flinched, but Ollivanders eyes were wide, reflective, and without judgment.

Harry gently took the wand which had a pattern of swirls and leaves carved delicately into the hilt. The wood was a soft, light color and the moment Harry took it in his hand something settled neatly into place. The spirits in the shop started to move about in excitement, and a peculiar warmth settled in Harry’s arm like sunlight on a warm day.

“Well, well, Mr. Potter. I thought it would be a long time yet until I saw that wand sold,” Mr. Ollivander took the wand gently from Harry’s hands and settled it back into its box. Harry’s arm tingled at the loss. “We don’t use thestral hair anymore simply because it is too particular. It seeks out a certain type of personality, a certain type of wizard. But it seems that you are the perfect fit.” His glassy eyes seem to bore a hole into Harry’s head as he handed Harry that box. “Beware that some may be predisposed to take advantage of that unique and flexible nature and use it to achieve their own ends.”

Hagrid stood and hustled over to Harry, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Harry looked down at the wand box blankly, feeling as though his energy had been sucked out of him. They paid 9 galleons for the wand and left. Mr. Ollivander’s gaze was far too bright and knowing as it lingered on their backs.

The trip back was a blur. Harry knew that they stopped back in at the Leaky Cauldron for a snack but a billion questions and concerns were tumbling through Harry’s mind. Hagrid had said he was famous, and that much was clear from Neville and Marie’s reactions, but what was he famous _ for _? Surviving when his parents didn’t? He was quite sure that he hadn’t done any secret magic to kill Voldemort. Harry was relieved that his parents hadn’t died in a drunken stupor like he’d always been told, but it also made it far more likely that they’d done something to kill Voldemort—not the other way around. And was everyone going to react like that? Was he going to be the freak, even at Hogwarts?

“Yer alright there ‘Arry?” Hagrid asked, his big face crumpled in concern. They were headed back to the train station and Harry hadn’t spoken for a while. 

“I-I’m fine, just nervous,” Harry answered. 

“That’s ter be expected,” Hagrid said. They stood on the platform, drawing more glances than ever with Harry’s arms laden with bags. “Just remember, yer can’t perform magic outside of school or in front of muggles—it’s illegal. Here’s yer ticket fer the train to get ter school.” Hagrid pressed a crumpled ticket into Harry’s palm.

“What are muggles?” Harry asked. He looked at the train ticket, which read ‘_ Platform 9 ¾.’ _

“People withou’ magic, like yer relatives,” Hagrid paused. “Though, you might’nt need to tell them yer can’t do magic yet.” He gave Harry a wink.

He grinned back.

The train ride back to Surrey was too full of people for Harry to talk to Nyanko. Once they had gotten back and settled into Harry’s new room they had time to talk. Harry’s relatives were home, but they didn’t say a word to Harry which suited him just fine. 

“You _ would _have a weird wand,” was the first thing Nyanko said, and Harry fell back onto his bed, groaning miserably. 

“I don’t know why I can’t ever just be normal,” Harry whined. “Do you think the kids at school will think I’m a freak as well?”

“I don’t know. Maybe other people there will be able to see spirits. Maybe not.” 

“The list said we could bring pets right? Other students will have cats. That won’t be strange.”

“I don’t know. Maybe they will. Maybe they won’t.

“It would be nice not to feel weird,” Harry mumbled, clutching Nyanko to his chest. The fat cat squirmed in his skinny arms. 

“Release me!” He huffed. 

There was an odd noise to his right, a clatter against glass, and Harry turned his head just in time to see a rock hit his bedroom window. 

“Nyanko!” Harry said, panicked as he took a look outside. One-eye was standing on the lawn, baring its sharp beak and looking haggard. It lined up another pebble to throw. 

“What a persistent one,” Nyanko observed, tailing waving back and forth. Another pebble clacked against the window. 

“They must really want their name back,” Harry said nervously, but then he paused and looked down at Nyanko. “Is there a way to give them back?”

Nyanko turned and stared at Harry, deeply offended.

“Why would you want to?”

“Well they won’t leave us alone!” Harry shot back defensively. 

“You’ll just make the Book of Friends thinner!” Nyanko said, shaking his head. “No!”

“So there _ is _a way.”

“I won’t tell you!” The cat hopped down and threw itself into the corner of the room, glaring over his shoulder at Harry. The sight was oddly endearing. Mushi crawled out from somewhere in the room and started running around in circles about the room, flailing its little arms. Harry giggled at the strange sight and decided to let the name issue go...for now.

\- -

The weeks before school started were passing quickly, especially since the Dursley had decided to pretend Harry didn’t exist for that time, but it was still a full 3 weeks of time to pester Nyanko into telling him how to return One-Eye’s name. 

All of Harry’s arguments seemed to fall on deaf ears. 

“_One-Eye won’t stop chasing us!” _

_ “What if they follow us to school?” _

_ “It’s only one name!” _

The cat remained steadfast. 

One-Eye drifted around the property like an angry ghost, bothering Harry with increasing frequency. Thankfully Nyanko was always able to turn into a wolf and send them scuttling away, but they always returned. 

“Nyanko, this is getting ridiculous,” Harry said as another pebble hit the window. It seemed the cat was developing a tick, because his eye gave a mighty twitch. It was late evening, the train for school left in two days, and Harry had a textbook open in his lap, determined not to be clueless for his first day of classes. Mushi was curled up on the pillow, seemingly asleep.

“They’ll give up. They have to,” the cat hissed, glaring down at the shadowed form of the demon below the window. “We’re about to go off to that Hoggy-wart place. They won’t follow us there.” Nyanko didn’t even seem convinced by his own words. Harry sighed and clapped his book shut.

“Nyanko, come on,” Harry said. 

Nyanko gave him a sharp glare but finally drew himself into an exhaustive sigh.

“_Fiiiiine. _ Let’s just go now before I change my mind,” Nyanko said, stomping off toward the door, an amusing sight on his kitty feet. “You’re more annoying than the damn demon.” Harry grinned and grabbed the Book of Friends. 

They crept down the stairs and exited the house, where Madara changed forms and guarded Harry. One-Eye darted toward them immediately. 

_ “Lily!” _ They yelled._“Lily my name! Give me the book!” _

“I-I won’t give you the book,” Harry said, as firmly as he could muster, “but I will return your name.”

The demon paused and looked at him with something very much like hope. 

_ “First, picture the demon in your mind. The correct page will appear,” _Madara instructed, folding his large paws and watching Harry intently. 

Harry closed his eyes and took a moment to visualize One-Eye. They were not a pleasant creature to look at, but Harry’s fear of them had ingrained the image of their sharp beak, beady eye, and clawed hands deep into his mind. There was a fluttering of pages and Harry looked to see the Book of Friends open and a single sheet standing straight up.

_ “Pluck the page from the book and bite it. You would normally need Lily’s blood or saliva but, as a direct descendant, yours should work fine.” _

Harry carefully ripped the page out with a slight wince and folded the paper before putting it in between his lips. He let his saliva wet the page. It felt like a pressure was building around him, like the world was glowing a bit too bright for the late hours. 

_ “Now, take a deep breath and blow out through your lips.” _

Harry sucked in air and blew gently, his hair fluttering forward as a gust of wind hit him from behind at the same time. He felt the ink loosen from the page and watched it flutter toward One-eye, entering through their forehead. A gasp. A flash of blinding light. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and—

  
  


_ The girl stood in front of the one-eyed demon, unafraid. She was perhaps 12 years old, scruffy, with her red hair yanked back into a long ponytail. Her lips were set in a strange grin as she looked at the demon, green eyes bright. There was a bandaid on her cheek. _

_ “Play a game with me. I’m bored,” the girl ordered. “You’re not doing anything.” _

_ “Y-you can see me?” Exclaimed Cyla. They had never met a human who could see them. Humans never even visit her little spot of the road, a lone bench with overgrown weeds. There were no houses around, no people. It was so lonely. So lonely. _

_ “Of course! Now play a game with me, and if I win then you have to give me your name,” the girl said with confidence. She bounced on the balls of her feet. _

_ “How did you become hurt?” Cyla asked, reaching a talon out toward the bandaid on the girl’s cheek. _

_ “Oh this?” She poked her own cheek roughly. “Some kids don’t like that I’m weird so they threw rocks at me. But I got them back.” She grinned. “Now, game! Do you agree to the terms?” _

_ “I guess. What is the game?” Cyla asked. They had never played a game with a human before. The girl smiled wide. _

_ “Hide and seek!” She said. “If I find you within 5 minutes then you have to give me your name. But I’ll warn you, I’m really good at it!” _

_ Cyla nodded and frantically searched for a place to hide while the girl counted. They eventually decided to crouch behind a tree nearby, although they weren’t fully hidden. It took the red-haired girl less than a minute to find them, and when she did, she bonked them on the head. _

_ “Ow!” Cycla cried, rubbing their head. “You win!” _

_ The girl gave a big smile and handed Cyla a piece of paper and a pen. Cyla wrote as carefully as they could, but they weren’t very good at it. _

_ “Cyla,” the girl tested it out on her tongue. To Cyla, it felt like a little nudge. “I like it, it’s pretty! My name is Lily. I’ll come back and hang out sometime.” _

_ “Lily, Cyla said. It felt strange to have a name on their tongue after so long. Lily waved as she left, and the last thing Cyla saw was the back of her head and her red ponytail swaying as she walked away. _

_ “Lily.” _

_ Cyla waited, but Lily did not come back that summer. _

_ “Lily.” _

_ Winter passed, but she didn’t come. _

_ “Lily.” _

_ Why didn’t she come back? _

_ “Lily!” _

_ It was so lonely. _

_ “Lily, give me back my name!” _

_ They wished they had never met Lily. It was so much lonelier than before. _

  
  
  


Harry gasped as he awoke, tears streaking down his face. He was in bed, somehow, with Madara hunched over him, clearly cramped in Harry’s small bedroom. Mushi was curled up on Harry’s chest. 

“W-what happened?” Harry asked, rubbing his eyes, a bit mortified. 

“_You returned the name and passed out," _Madara said bluntly, deep voice resounding through the room. “_You’re too young to be using your spiritual power so frivolously.” _

“It wasn frivolous! Where did they go?”

"_Back to wherever weaklings live, how should I know?” _The wolf grumbled. _ “I had to carry you up here, you know. I almost ate you. You would have been quite tasty.” _

Harry looked down and noticed his clothes were damp with saliva.

“Ew,” he said. “Oh—I saw something when I returned the name. I think it was a memory of my mom.” Harry chewed his lip. “She said she would come back to visit them and then she...didn’t.” 

_ “Humans don’t always keep their promises,” _Madara said simply. 

“I—it’s just—was my mom a bad person?” Harry twisted his hands together. “It seems like she might have been. At least to the demons.”

Madara stared at him with his deep gold eyes, red markings contrasting sharply with his fur in the moonlight. 

_ “I do not know what humans consider to be ‘a bad person.’ But Lily is widely respected among demons for defeating so many. She may have broken some promises along the way, but she amassed power on her own. Demons respect that.” _Madara said. It didn’t make Harry feel too much better, but he figured that he’d already learned long ago that people weren’t perfect. 

Maybe his mom wasn’t either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Huzzah! Featuring Neville, because Harry arrived earlier in the morning than in canon. 
> 
> So I know it's a fanfic trope for Harry to have some weird, unusual wand, but I really did want something to relate to his spirit-demon crap that didn't stray too far from canon creatures and lore. I know thestrals are closely related to death more so than spirits in this fandom, but I have a few ideas on how to mess with that concept. Either way, it's hardly the weirdest thing about Harry in this.
> 
> Also kinda struggled to write this chapter overall. I just realized how boring I find the whole Diagon Alley fiasco at this point. Maybe I'll go back an jazz it up more later.


	5. There Was a Leech Demon

**“**We should let Marionette know we’re leaving,” Harry said while wiping the windows down outside. With only a day left until he left for school, Harry was having a hard time sitting still and found himself furiously cleaning anything and everything around Privet Drive. His aunt and uncle were still determined to pretend he didn’t exist, but Dudley had given him a look like he was crazy when Harry had started dusting around the staircase.

“Why should we do that?” Nyanko said. Well, really he panted. The cat was chasing a butterfly around the flower beds as well as he could in his round body.

“What if she thinks we’re not coming back for the party? Or that you were sealed again?”

“I don’t see why she would think that,” Nyanko answered. “I don’t have a reputation for staying in one place.”

“Still. It’s rude to just leave.”

Nyanko finally pounced on the butterfly, exclaiming, “_Aha!” _It was ruined a second later when the butterfly flittered out from between his paws. 

“Drat,” Nyanko muttered. 

“Nyanko-_ sensei,_” Harry whined. “Listen to me.”

“Do what you want, I’m not stopping you.” 

“Yes, but how do I find her!”

Nyanko rolled his eyes, “Just call her name. She’ll hear you. It’s why she told us.” 

Harry hesitated, looking around to see if any neighbors were peeping through their curtains. It seemed as if the coast was clear, but one could never be certain.

“Marionette?” Harry called hesitantly, twisting his cleaning rag in his hands. “We’d like to speak with you…”

For a long second it seemed like nothing would happen, but then there was a feathery brush of wind and Marionette was standing before them looking exactly as she had that day at the library weeks ago. 

_ “Yes?” _ Marionette said, cocking her head. It was clear she didn’t know how to address him. 

“Oh! I never introduced myself, I’m so sorry,” Harry blabbed, blushing. “My name is Harry.” 

Marionette’s head swung to tilt the other way, sunlight reflecting off the polished wood of her mask. “_Not Lily?” _She asked. 

“No, that was my mum.” 

_ “I see,_” Marionette said, nodding. _ “Did Sir Madara have need of me?” _

She looked over only to see Nyanko digging a hole in the mulch. 

“Well, we wanted to let you know we’d be gone for a while,” Harry said, rolling his eyes as the cat. “I’m going to a school in Scotland so we won’t be around, but we’ll still be attending the summer solstice party.” 

_ “I understand. Thank you for telling me," _Marionette said politely._“The demons in this area are very gossipy and might have spread the rumor you were gone for good.” _

Harry sent a triumphant smile toward Nyanko, whose ears twitched even though he was pretending not to listen. 

“I thought we should let you know,” Harry said. “Everyone here likes to talk to each other.”

_ “Yes, well…,” _ Marionette responded, seemingly amused. _ “I will spread the word. Is there anything else you need of me?” _

“Yes, actually,” Nyanko interrupted before Harry could thank her and send her away. “We need some sealing paper. Think you could get us some?”

_ “Of course, Sir Nyanko!” _ Marionette said brightly, looking far more excited to be of service to the cat demon than Harry. _ “It may take me a couple of days. Is that acceptable?” _

“That’s fine,” Nyanko waved his paw carelessly. “We’ll be at the school though, so we’ll call you in a few days so you can find us.”

Marionette stiffened, then sagged a bit,_“Oh—I’m sorry Sir Nyanko but Scotland is a bit...outside my range of wind travel. I would have to find you on foot.” _

“Hmm,” the cat said, scratching its chin. Marionette seemed quite distraught, smoothing the front of her dress with her hands aggressively. 

_ “I will bring it to them,” _came a voice. Everyone jumped in surprise, and Harry spun to find the source of the sound.

_“Up here," _the voice said again. Harry looked up and there, sitting in Aunt Petunia’s favorite flowering tree, was a tiny man.

He was only about six inches tall, perched on a tree branch and wearing a crude, acorn cap mask. He wore small, navy robes, cinched at the waist with twine, and held a little pipe. Staring at them, he took a long draw of smoke. 

“What’s a god doing here?” Nyanko asked, narrowing his eyes. 

“A _ god?” _Harry squeaked. The little god chuckled good naturedly.

_“Perhaps I was...at one point...,” _he said fondly, looking off into the sky. 

_ “You would bring them the sealing paper?” _Marionette asked, cutting to the chase. _ “What do you want in turn?” _

_ “Only my name,” _the god said._“Lily collected it from me years ago, but I find now that, as I grow smaller, I might like it back. If you summon me using the Book of Friends then I will appear without delay. I will give you the paper, and then you can return my name.” _

Nyanko seemed upset that the book would be getting thinner from this deal, but whatever he needed the paper for was clearly important because he nodded grudgingly and pronounced it a deal.

_ “Fabulous!” _The god clapped his small hands._“Wait two nights before calling me. You may know me a Surrey, for now, although I expect you will be seeing my true name soon enough, young man.” _ Harry had the distinct feeling he was being winked at from beneath the acorn cap mask. With a rustle of leaves and flowers, the god was gone.

_ “Hm. I haven’t seen him here before,” _Marionette said, "_but I suppose he won’t be willing to risk anything with his name on the line. Hopefully he will keep his word.” _

Marionette turned back to them and curtsied, before vanishing in a gust of wind as well.

“Do spirits never say goodbye?” Harry asked, but Nyanko was already face planted on the ground and having a tantrum, waving his chubby arms and legs.

“Of course it’s his _ name _he wants!” The cat exclaimed, words muffled in the dirt. “I should have just made her walk!” 

“Why do you need the sealing paper so bad?” Harry asked. He collected his cleaning supplies, less restless after all the excitement. 

“It’s for you, not for me,” the cat grumbled. “I probably won’t be able to keep an eye on you in classes so I want you to have talismans on hand to protect you. You’ll have to learn how to make them of course, but with the great Nyanko-sensei teaching you it’ll be a breeze.”

Harry froze, looking down at the cat in shock. 

“What?” Nyanko said defensively. “I said I’d protect you right? That was the deal.” 

“I—yeah, but I guess I just assumed—,” Harry’s words caught in his throat, “—I dunno. I guess I didn’t think you’d try so hard.”

“I’m not trying hard. It doesn’t mean anything,” the cat said, stiffening his back and tail and walking off in the direction of the front door. 

“Sure, sure!” Harry said, laughing as he followed Nyanko inside. 

_ “It doesn’t!” _

They spent the rest of the day bickering as Harry organized his things—his _ magical _things—in his trunk and prepared for the next day. He carefully put his train ticket in the pocket of his messenger bag, folded his robes, and wrapped the covers of his books in old tshirts to protect them. He paused on his wand, still in its dented, cardboard box, before carefully taking it out and holding it in his hand. 

Mushi crawled into sight from under Harry’s bed and approached curiously, climbing Harry’s knee and perching in his lap. The now familiar warmth of the wand was settling upon Harry again, and he took a deep, steadying breath. The wand really was beautiful, ornately carved with leaves and swirls and just the slightest bit crooked. He hoped he would get to see others’ wands tomorrow and compare.

A thought suddenly struck Harry, and he turned to Nyanko.

“How will we get to the train station?” Harry hissed. “There’s no way my uncle will agree to take us. And all the charms wore off so I can’t carry everything.”

“I’ll fly us,” Nyanko said nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t said something earth shattering. 

“You can _ fly _?!”

“Of course.”

“Wh-what? We can’t, someone will see us!” Harry paused. “...or they’ll just see me flying on nothing!”

“Please, you think I can’t hide us from a few humans?” Nyanko crossed his paws. “You insult me.” 

Harry sputtered, then slapped a hand to face and groaned, “I can’t even get to school the normal way.” 

“Yes, well, that’s what happens when you have unreliable apes for relatives.” 

“_Nyanko _!”

“What?”

There was a soft knock as Harry’s door and he stilled, looking at it with suspicion. His family would never knock, simply burst in. He crept toward it and turned the knob, assuming it was a demon looking for its name. 

However, to his surprise, the large form of Dudley stood outside, eyes locked resolutely on his own feet. The boy looked as if he couldn’t choose a facial expression, twisting his features into something that looked vaguely painful. He took a deep breath when Harry opened the door. 

“Uh, yes?” Harry asked when Dudley didn’t immediately say anything. 

“You-you’re going away for a while, right?” Dudley said. “Mom said you were going to freak school.”

“Well, I’m going away to school, yes,” Harry partially agreed, restraining the urge to roll his eyes. 

Dudley scuffed his feet on the floor.

“Did you need something?” Harry asked, ready to just shut his bedroom door and be done with it. 

“It-it’s not for freaks though, right?” Dudley said in a rush, then added in a whisper. “It’s for m-magic?”

“Well, your mom would say they’re one and the same,” Harry responded lightly. “But, yes, it’s a magic school.”

“You’re always talking to nothing. Is that a magic person thing? That’s magic right?” Dudley said, gaining a little confidence. 

“Well, I guess. Kind of.”

“Mom said it’s ‘cause you’re crazy. But…”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve seen it,” Dudley said, broadening his shoulders. “I’ve seen stuff move around you—windows opening, and, and the th-thing in the garden shed.” 

Harry blinked, surprised. “Y-you can see them?”

“No, I’m not a _ freak,_” Dudley hissed. “I just see stuff happen around you and I figure—magic must be real. And...I don’t know, some of it seemed cool, like when stuff floats around you. I don’t know.” Dudley grabbed onto his own, too-tight shirt and looked frustrated at the floor.

“When you come back…,” Dudley stared at Harry earnestly this time, steeling himself and clenching his fists, “W-would you show me?”

“Show you...magic?”

“Yeah,” Dudley paused and then added, “and make me another cake.”

Harry stared at his cousin, dumbfounded. 

Dudley tensed and went very red when he didn’t respond, mumbling something and heading back to his bedroom. 

“W-wait, Dudley!” Harry called him, a bit too loud. Dudley paused in the hall next to a picture of the Dursleys on the beach, posing in white shirts and khakis. “I’ll show you, when I get back. And I can write you a letter while I’m at school, if you want.”

“You don’t need to write me,” Dudley said, not turning around. He turned quickly into his bedroom and shut the door. 

Harry stared at the closed door for a long, blank second before shaking himself and retreating into his bedroom.

“That was weird.”

“I keep _ telling you, _ humans are _ all _strange.”

\- -

Flying on Madara was the best experience Harry had ever had. 

Fists curled in the wolf’s soft, white fur, Harry whooped as they moved through the brisk morning air. Wind caught Harry’s wild black mane, wrenching it back from his forehead while sunlight glinted off his spectacles. His trunk was clutched in Madara’s paw, and Mushi was tucked away in Harry’s pocket where he had sewn in a little seat belt to keep the mushroom from tumbling out. 

“This is brilliant!” Harry yelled, straining to be heard above the rushing air. He buried his face into Madara’s neck, inhaling deeply. 

“_I feel like a horse,” _the demon said, but his voice wasn’t annoyed. 

“How much longer?” 

_ “I don’t understand your human time measurements. We’ll get there soon.” _

Harry did his best to fully enjoy the rest of the ride and keep his hands from quivering in excitement. In just a little bit he’d be on the train to go to a wizarding school, and it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him. He’d thought he’d have to drag himself to Stonewall High every day until he was finally old enough to leave the Dursleys, but it seemed his life had taken a sudden and amazing turn for the better. 

Harry had wished the Dursley’s goodbye before he’d left, but they’d just grunted at him. Dudley had given him a little wave. They’d done an amazing job pretending he didn’t exist over the last few weeks. Even though Harry hadn’t received a list of daily chores during that time, he found himself going through the routines anyway simply because he didn’t know what to do with himself when he wasn’t working. 

Before he’d left, Harry also snuck back up to the attic and stole the family photo that had revealed who Lily really was--the one of his mother posing with his aunt and grandparents. _ Grandparents. _Harry could hardly stand to think the word; it sent such sharp feelings of elation and dread through him. 

Madara started to descend and Harry delighted in the dropping sensation his stomach. It wasn’t sudden, but it was exhilarating all the same. They touched down in the park beside the station, Harry carefully looking to make sure no one was around before he slipped off the demon’s back. 

“We have to do that again,” Harry said, jittering with adrenaline. 

_ “Not any time soon, holding that form for so long is exhausting," _Madara whined, poofing back into the shape of a round, calico cat and hopping onto Harry’s head.

“I thought you were supposed to be powerful.” Harry said teasingly, dragging his trunk to the front of the station and inwardly bemoaning his scrawny arms. He desperately needed a trolley. 

“_You seal yourself up in a pot for 200 years and see if you come out feeling fresh as a daisy.” _

“You never did explain how you got in there...,” Harry wondered. 

Nyanko didn’t say anything to that. Harry decided to drop it.

They grabbed a trolley and entered King’s Cross station, moving with difficulty through the bustling morning crowds. The station was very lovely and ornate, with big, arched ceilings, but the stress of trying to get around made it difficult to appreciate. Harry pulled his ticket out and checked the platform.

_‘Platform_ _9 ¾.'_

“That can’t be right…,” he mumbled, tilting it so Nyanko could see. The platforms were labeled with whole numbers. “Should I ask someone?”

“Just wait,” Nyanko said quietly. The weight of his paws on Harry’s head was comforting, so Harry went to a bench and sat, staring nervously at the empty space between platforms.

“There,” Nyanko said after a minute, pointing a fat paw at one of the pillars, “it smells different. Try going toward it.”

Harry walked over to the pillar, trying to look casual. He inspected it and noticed a faint shimmering along the ends of the pillar. The more he focused, the more it seemed to sink and dissolve into itself. Tentatively, he reached out and touched it, his finger slipping through the shimmery veil of magic.

Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, Harry pushed his trolley completely through the barrier and popped out the other side. 

It was obvious he was in the right place. An enormous, red steam engine train dominated the station while wizards and witches bustled around, pushing trolleys laden with trunks and owls. The air was thick with steam, magic, and something metallic. He carefully made his way through the crowd, staring around in awe. For a split second Harry thought he saw a familiar, feathered, wide-brimmed hat in the throng of people, but it was gone when he blinked. Harry figured he should just get on the train. 

He headed toward the doors and braced himself to lift the heavy trunk, but found himself struggling. It was so large and unwieldy that it kept slipping from his fingers and toppling back onto the trolley. Embarrassed, Harry kept trying. 

“_Do you need assistance?” _A silky voice said. Harry glanced subtly to the side and saw a skinny, pale person with a cracked, crooked mouth, thin black eyes, and a too-long face. Their hair was lengthy and black, but their appearance was neither male or female. They didn’t look very friendly. 

“I’m good, thanks,” Harry whispered, figuring by the disproportionate body and odd mouth that he was looking at a demon. He was still blocking the entrance to a section of the train and a small line was beginning to form behind him.

“_Oh, but I insist, Lily,” _the demon said, its cracked grin spreading ever wider. Harry sucked in a breath and turned sharply to the person waiting behind him.

“E-excuse me, but could you help me with my trunk?” He asked, trying to focus on the blonde boy behind him and not the demon smiling eerily beside him. Nyanko was tense, ready to strike, but the area was crowded and it would be hard to defend Harry in such a tight spot. 

“Me?” The blonde boy asked, affronted. He cast a disdainful look at the cat on Harry’s head. 

“Yes. You. Please,” Harry said, stiff and nervous. 

“Well—,” the boy paused, then sighed, “—fine. Clearly you’re holding everyone up.” He cast a glare at Harry, but together they were able to lift Harry’s trunk up onto the train. 

“Thanks,” Harry said, genuine but still nervously glancing the sketchy demon who stood beside the blonde boy now. The boy looked suspiciously at the seemingly empty spot next to him and then glared at Harry again. Harry ignored him, turning on his heel and dragging his trunk onto the train. Nyanko turned to watch their back.

Harry sank into the seat of the first empty compartment he could find. He wasn’t even at the school yet and he was exhausted.

“Did they follow us?” Harry asked. 

“Not directly, but I bet they’re on the train somewhere,” Nyanko said, hopping down and making himself comfortable on the seat. Harry looked at his trunk, frustrated. 

“How am I supposed to get it on the overhead?” There were rails above, but Harry sincerely doubted he’d be able to lift it considering his performance at the door to the train.

“Just stick it in the corner.” 

“Can’t you do something to help?”

“What do I look like to you? A magician?”

They continued to bicker until the train started moving and a soft knock sounded on the door. Without waiting for an answer, the door slid open and revealed an awkward looking red-haired boy. A smattering of freckles danced across his round cheeks and he shuffled his feet in the doorway.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” The boy asked. “Everywhere else is full.”

“That’s fine,” Harry answered quickly, even as Nyanko huffed in annoyance. 

“Great, thanks!” A wide grin split across the boy’s face and he bounded in, lifting his trunk with relative ease and sliding it on the bars above the bench. Harry looked on with envy, but as the boy turned Harry noticed something odd.

There was a lumpy, black spirit stuck to the back of the boy’s neck, suckling like a baby pig. It was a formless, black slug with no eyes, a tail wrapped twice around the boy’s thin neck. Harry grimaced in disgust. 

The boy turned, glancing at Harry’s trunk, “Do you need help with that?”

“Y-yeah, thanks,” Harry said, blushing, and together they heaved the trunk up onto the overhead bars. 

“Should’a asked someone to put a charm on that, mate,” the boy said after they were both flopped onto the seats and panting. “I’m Ron Weasley by the way, nice to meet you.”

“Harry Potter.” 

“W-what?” Ron shot up into sudden, rapt attention. “H-harry Potter? You’re really him?” Very clear awe was gushing through his eyes, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. 

“Do you really have the—ya know?” Ron pointed to his own forehead, then gestured at Harry. “The s-scar from You-Know-Who?” 

Harry frowned, slapping a hand on his own forehead. 

“You mean Voldemort?”

Ron blanched at the name, nodding.

Before Harry could move to lift the hair from his head, Nyanko leaped onto it and clamped his large paws down across the scar. Harry gave a cursory tug on the paws but they didn’t budge.

“Oh, well nevermind then,” Ron said, blatantly disappointed.

“_Children_,” Nyanko hissed, and Harry could practically feel him roll his eyes. Harry glanced surreptitiously at Ron to see if he’d heard the cat, but he gave no indication. Something bitter curled in Harry’s throat. Probably disappointment. 

Ron turned then, to look out the window at the passing landscape and the spirit on his neck came back into view. It seemed a little larger somehow—swollen and black. Ron yawned, slumping further into the seats and glancing at Harry a little nervously. 

“So, uh, what house do you think you’ll be in?” Ron asked, tugging at his collar. “Fred and George said I was a shoe in for Hufflepuff, which wouldn’t be _ too _ bad, but they were probably just yanking my leg. I think I’d be fine with anything as long as it’s not Slytherin. ” Ron shuddered dramatically and the... _ thing _...jostled at the movement. Harry stared in disgust. 

_ It’s feeding off him, _Harry thought, realization dawning like a kick to the head.

Harry didn’t think it would look normal to simply reach out and pluck it off the boy’s neck. What if it hurt him? How would he even explain that?

‘_Yeah, just hold still mate while I get this demon slug off your neck. Might hurt, just a mo.’ _

Yeah that would go over well.

It was only after Ron coughed uncomfortably and went fire-engine red that Harry realized that he’d been asked a question that he hadn’t answered. 

“Oh—um—my house?” Harry asked, reaching through his mind for the conversation thread. “I don’t know, um, maybe Hufflepuff?”

“Well, like I said, Hufflepuff isn’t too bad,” Ron said, but he was giving Harry an odd look. 

_ I’ve weirded him out, _ Harry moaned in his head. _ My first real go at a friend in the wizarding world, and I’ve gone and weirded him out! _

Nyanko snickered, as if sensing his thoughts.

A candy lady swung by at one point, but Harry’s stomach was turning with anxiety, and he found himself unable to quite take his eyes off the bulging spirit stuck to Ron’s neck. Ron had an unappealing looking sandwich to eat, but Harry figured the boy needed all the energy he could get so he encouraged him to eat it. 

“You can grab it off,” Nyanko commented above him. He hadn’t moved from Harry’s nest of curls since Ron’s comment about seeing the scar. “You just need to get a strong grip and yank. But it’ll try to reattach if you don’t get it out of here quick.” 

_ Easier said than done, _Harry thought. There was absolutely no way to make pulling on air look normal. The compartment had also descended into awkward silence at one point and Harry didn’t quite know what to do.

There was a soft knock at the door and then a familiar face peeped in.

“Hello, sorry to be a bother but have either of you seen a—oh, Harry!” 

It was Neville, just as round and unassuming, standing in the doorway. Harry smiled and gave a little wave. “Neville, how have you been?”

“Good, except, well…,” Neville sighed, “I seem to have lost my toad, Trevor. He’s always hopping off.”

“Oh, well, no we haven’t seen any toads,” Harry answered. Ron was glancing between the two of them rapidly. The small movements caused the leech spirit to quiver, and Harry couldn’t keep his eyes away as felt his stomach turn. 

“Ah, I figured you wouldn’t have,” Neville said, tracking Harry’s eyes to Ron’s neck as well and seeing nothing. Then suddenly, noticing something, he turned to Ron and said, “Sorry, um, I’m Neville Longbottom. Nice to meet you.”

Ron, midway through chewing a bite of sandwich, swallowed and introduced himself as well. The leech bounced. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, then found his determination somewhere in his roiling stomach. 

**“**Yeah Neville, there’s—look, um, Ron, you have a bug…a big one, uh, just stay still,” Harry blurted out in a panicked jumble, suddenly lunging toward Ron, who yelped and jerked back. 

“What? Bug?!” He squealed, arm flying up just as Harry’s hand clenched around the leech spirit and pulled. There was a sharp squeal when Harry yanked back as hard as he could, but the leech stuck fast, screaming.

“Just, um, uh, d-don’t move,” Harry stuttered, bracing a knee on the bench and a hand on Ron’s thigh. Ron was wriggling an awful lot. Neville’s eyes had gone extremely wide.

“Harry—what? There’s nothing—,” Neville said, confusion coloring his tone. 

Harry pulled once again, putting his whole body weight into a single tug. With a sickening _ pop _and a squelch, Harry fell back onto his bum with the squirming leech grasped in one hand. It wiggled desperately to escape, bloodcurdling screeches echoing throughout the compartment. 

“Did you get it? It doesn’t look like you did,” Ron asked doubtfully, looking at Harry’s fist which must have looked half open to him, wrapped around the girth of the leech. 

“Uh, yeah, I’m gonna go dump it somewhere,” Harry said in a rush, bolting out of the room and past a bushy haired girl who had just started approaching the compartment. She scowled as he pushed past.

“We’re not supposed to run in the hall!” She said, her tone that of a scandalized adult. 

“Sorry!” Harry called back, but he kept moving, the leech struggling in his hands. 

He’d almost made it to the end of the train car, whizzing past the many windows and open compartment doors filled with excited students, when suddenly the last door slid open and someone stepped out directly into Harry’s path. Unable to stop, Harry slammed directly into the other person, falling into a heap of skinny arms and bony elbows and losing his grip on the leech. 

“I’m so sorry!” Harry said quickly, propping up on his elbows and looking down on the person he knocked over.

It was the small blonde boy who’d helped him with his trunk on the platform. He was tousled and upset, a pinched look on his narrow face like he’d sucked on a sour lemon.

“Get. Off. Me,” the boy grit out through clenched teeth. Harry immediately scuttled back off the other boy, holding out a hand to help him up which went completely ignored. 

Noticing that the leech was no longer in his hand, Harry spun in a circle, searching wildly. _ There _. It was flopping on the ground by another boy’s feet, one who had also stepped out of the blonde boy’s compartment with an amused look on his face. 

“Bit of a spill, Draco?” He asked mockingly. The boy was dark-skinned and lean, with neatly trimmed hair and a steady smirk. Draco gave him a dark look and dusted himself off. A lock of blonde hair had clearly fallen out of the boy’s slicked back hairstyle, but the hairstyle was dumb in the first place so Harry didn’t comment on it. If anything, it was an improvement.

“Shut up, Blaise,” Draco sniffed, then refocused on Harry who was trying to figure out how to swipe the leech from Blaise’s feet before it latched onto him next. Consequently, Harry’s eyes were locked onto the carpet. 

“Hello, eyes up here,” Blaise said, smirking and snapping his fingers. Harry startled and met the other boy’s gaze, which he found to be cold and judging. The uniquely adult expression just didn’t look right on his young face. 

“Sorry, again,” Harry said to Draco, then paused an added, “and thanks again for helping me with my trunk earlier.”

“Yes, well, you were acting weird and there was a queue,” Draco snapped. Harry tried not to wince at the word ‘weird'. Blaise definitely noticed and his smirk sharpened.

“Draco here was just about to go searching the train for the famous Harry Potter with his two gorillas,” Blaise said, sidling a bit closer to Harry and unconsciously stepping over the leech. Harry could see two lumbering figures in the compartment behind Blaise. Gorillas indeed. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen him in your mad rush? It looks like you’ve been down the whole car.”

Harry blushed furiously and stepped away. He glanced down at the leech and back up at Blaise nervously. How was he supposed to grab it? He already looked weird.

“Geez, I’ll get it,” Nyanko grumbled under his breath. “Do I have to do everything around here?” 

The cat then jumped to the ground, fluffing up Harry’s hair and very obviously exposing Harry’s lightning bolt shaped scar.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Blaise said, just as Draco exclaimed, “_It’s you?!” _Then they both turned and glared at each other. 

“Uh, well,” Harry said eloquently. Blaise took another step toward him. Harry took another step back.

Nyanko already had the leech clutched in his jaw and was waving his tailed impatiently. It had stopped squirming and Harry briefly wondered if it was dead. 

“Hello Harry Potter, it is an absolute pleasure to meet you. I’m Blaise Zabini,” Blaise said, bowing to Harry slightly while maintaining eye contact. Well, he was trying to make eye contact. Harry’s green eyes were flitting absolutely anywhere but the boy’s face. Blaise just made him so uncomfortable. Even more so when he attempted to gently take Harry’s hand for some reason and Harry had to do a quick double step backward. 

“Blaise, you don’t kiss his hand. That’s the greeting for _ girls,_” Draco said, rolling his eyes upward as if looking for patience in the tiled ceiling. Blaise just shrugged. Harry searched for an escape, eyes landing longingly on the door. 

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” Draco announced, holding out a firm hand for Harry to shake. Harry barely hesitated, sliding his palm into the other boy’s grasp and giving it a delicate shake. Draco had thin fingers and lukewarm hands. 

“N-nice to meet you,” Harry said. “Um, I’ve gotta go though. See you at the school?”

“Sure. Just make sure you find your way with the _ right sorts _, Potter,” Draco said, looking disdainfully at Harry as though he’d not quite met expectations. Blaise was looking at Harry as well but more like one would a bug under a microscope. 

“Uh, I will? Gotta go,” Harry flubbed.

Harry ignored Draco’s deepening scowl and hustled around the two boys, scooped up Nyanko, and ducked out of the train car door onto the metal platform between the cars. He immediately gripped the rail for support while wind roared around them and Scottish landscape whizzed by.

“Frow it,” Nyanko mumbled around the leech and dropped it in Harry’s palm. Harry almost gagged at the slimy texture, but gripped the leech hard and wound up. He chucked the nasty thing as far as he could, watching the wind rip it backward and into the tall grasses of the field around them. He wiped his palms on his pants. 

There was a moment of peace while they stood on the platform, Harry’s black hair flying around and Nyanko’s fur rustling in the wind. It was nice. There was sunlight and fresh air, and for a moment Harry felt like he could breathe. There were no spirit leeches, no suspicious eyes, no lost toads—just Harry and his totally normal cat, enjoying some golden sunlight.

_ But I guess, _ Harry thought, looking down at his very abnormal cat and feeling the weight of the Book of Friends in his bag, _ that’s a bit too much to hope for. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of an unintentional hiatus but things got busy for a bit. Hoping to hop back on the weekly update train--or biweekly update train? Some sort of train.


	6. There Was a Boy With No Friends

Hogwarts was big. Amazingly, enormously, hugely, impossibly big. 

It loomed over the lake in haunting beauty, windows alive and gleaming with warm candlelight. The stone of its ancient walls were beaten and weathered by time, and Harry felt his breath catch. It was so magical and beautiful and so far away from the cupboard of number 4, Privet Drive, that Harry felt an uncomfortable wad of emotion rise up. He blinked rapidly and glanced at the other children sailing across the lake with him toward the castle and they seemed similarly stunned. Even Nyanko was quiet and relaxed on Harry’s head. 

Harry was in a boat with Neville and one other stranger—a pudgy, blonde girl with brown eyes who seemed very nervous. Ron had split off with someone else, obviously unwilling to be around Harry. 

When Harry had returned to their compartment on the train, Neville had caught him in the hall and admitted to Harry that he’d told Ron he hadn’t seen a bug on his neck. The red-haired boy now apparently thought Harry had been playing a mean, if weird, trick, and Neville didn’t seem to be certain about it himself. Harry had profusely apologized to Ron and insisted there _ had _ been a bug, but the words had sounded hollow. Afterall, with all the dramatic yanking on air it had probably seemed like a poorly planned sketch to get away from the red-haired boy’s attempts at conversation. Ron hadn’t seem convinced either, and the rest of the ride to Hogwarts had been dreadfully awkward. 

Neville had at least been willing to partner with him for the boat ride though, so that was nice. Even if Harry was disappointed that Ron didn’t want to be friends, he was used to that kind of disappointment anyway. 

When they reached the opposite shore, Hagrid led the group up to the wide, stone staircase at the front of the castle. Neville helped Harry out of the boat with a proffered arm which he took gratefully. They followed at the back of the group at a sedate pace while Harry twisted his fingers nervously. 

When the wide doors of the castle opened, they revealed a stern looking witch with serious eyes and a set jaw. Her brown hair was streaked with gray and tucked into a neat bun, while a pointed hat sat at a jaunty angle on her head.

“Thank you Rubeus, I’ll take it from here,” the woman said to the giant before turning to the group. “I am Deputy Headmistress McGonagall and I will be leading you all to the Great Hall for the ceremony. Follow close behind, and do not wander off.” Her tone brokered no room for argument. 

The group of first years wandered through the halls, gasping in awe at the high ceilings, flickering wall sconces, and large suits of armor. Harry fixated on the moving paintings, their subjects whispering and pointing at the group as they walked by.

There was a commotion toward the front and Harry craned his neck to see.

“It’s just some ghosts,” Neville said, though his lip trembled. He stood a bit taller than Harry, but Harry was very short anyway. 

“Ghosts?” Harry said, an indefinable feeling rushing through him. “_Everyone _ can see ghosts?”

“It’s not the same,” Nyanko whispered, something consoling in his voice.

“Only witches and wizards leave ghosts behind, and only witches and wizards can see them,” Neville explained, looking a bit like he wasn’t used to explaining things. “There’s poltergeists and ghouls too, which are a bit more mean, but they’re the same way. We have a ghoul in our basement actually.”

Part of Harry wanted to protest and tell Neville that muggles _ did _ leave ghosts behind—they just turned into demons more often than not—but explaining it would have been impossible. He kept silent. 

“I’ve read _ all _about the ghosts in the castle,” a smooth, high-pitched voice said, and both boys looked over to see a girl with bushy hair and large front teeth standing next to them with her chin held high. “They’ve all died horrible deaths. There’s also a poltergeist named Peeves.”

“Oh, hello Hermione,” Neville said pleasantly. “That’s nice.” The group started to move again and Hermione started walking at Harry’s side.

“I saw you running through the train,” she said to Harry. “What were you doing? You were holding something.” 

“I was going to let a bug outside.” 

Hermione nodded thoughtfully but then went straight into another question, “Why do you have a cat on your head? I don’t think we’re allowed to bring pets to the feast.” She looked around him at his messenger bag as well. 

Harry’s hand came up to cradle Nyanko defensively.

“H-he goes where I go. And so does the bag,” Harry said, a little harshly. Hermione pinched her lips. 

“Well, don’t blame me when the professors tell you to get rid of your cat for the sorting ceremony,” she said a bit snootily to Harry, before craning her neck to look at Neville. “Do you know what we’re supposed to do for that? It’s all very hush hush, although I heard _ someone _seems to think we will have to fight a troll. Honestly.” She rolled her eyes.

“It’s a secret,” Neville said, looking nervous. “My Gran wouldn’t tell me either.”

“W-well it can’t be that bad then,” Harry said, reaching up to grab Nyanko and hold him in his arms. The cat went with little complaint. 

“I suppose not, or they wouldn’t let us go in unprepared,” Hermione conceded.

The group was silent until they reached the Great Hall, where Harry found himself struck silent once more by the ceiling above him, sparkling with stars. Candles hung suspended in mid air, and small, glowing lights shaped like dandelion seeds floated aimlessly around. Four broad tables stretched through the hall, packed with other students, and they all looked curiously at the new group of first years. At the back of the hall there was a smaller, shorter table full of taller figures where it was clear the professors were seated, but Harry’s eyes didn’t linger too long, distracted by the myriad of lights and colors all around. 

“The ceiling is enchanted to look like the sky outside,” Hermione whispered, nudging Harry, “and the candles stay lit all the time. I read about it in ‘Hogwarts: A History.’”

“What about the dandelion lights?” Harry asked, reaching out a finger to poke one and send it spiraling away. 

“What? What dandelion lights?” Hermione asked, and Harry ducked his head. 

“Oh—um—neverm—,” Harry was blessedly cut short by McGonagall’s clipped tone announcing the start of the sorting ceremony. Hermione looked at Harry suspiciously, but Harry just focused ahead, watching as McGonagall placed a tatter, black, pointed hat on the three legged stool at the front of the hall. A seam split open at the front and, shockingly, it began to sing. 

_ Oh, you may not think I’m pretty, _

_ But don’t judge on what you see, _

_ I’ll eat myself if you can find _

_ A smarter hat than me. _

_ You can keep your bowlers black, _

_ Your top hats sleek and tall, _

_ For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat _

_ And I can cap them all. _

_ There’s nothing hidden in your head _

_ The Sorting Hat can’t see, _

_ So try me on and I will tell you _

_ Where you ought to be. _

_ You might belong in Gryffindor, _

_ Where dwell the brave at heart, _

_ Their daring, nerve and chivalry _

_ Set Gryffindors apart; _

_ You might belong in Hufflepuff, _

_ Where they are just and loyal, _

_ Those patient Hufflepuffs are true _

_ And unafraid of toil; _

_ Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, _

_ If you’ve a ready mind, _

_ Where those of wit and learning, _

_ Will always find their kind; _

_ Or perhaps in Slytherin _

_ You’ll make your real friends, _

_ Those cunning folk use any means _

_ To achieve their ends. _

_ So put me on! Don’t be afraid! _

_ And don’t get in a flap! _

_ You’re in safe hands (though I have none) _

_ For I’m a Thinking Cap! _

There was a stunned silence, then an eruption of clapping.

“We just put on a hat?” Harry mumbled to Nyanko. 

“Humans are so _ weird," _Nyanko whined. Nearby, a blonde head whipped around at the cat’s grating, elder voice, prompting Harry to wave nervously at Draco. The boy narrowed his gray eyes and glanced around before turning back to the front, clearly unsatisfied. 

“I think he can hear you,” Harry said, even quieter. The cat nodded. 

Excitement thrummed through his veins. _Does this mean Draco can see them too? _Harry wondered, but then he thought back to the leech spirit, and he felt some of his excitement taper off. Draco definitely hadn’t noticed that.

McGonagall told the hall she would read out their names and they would come to the front to be sorted. A nervous energy began to rumble through the group. 

“Abbot, Hannah,” she called, and the nervous blonde girl from the boats shuffled to the front of the room and placed the hat on her head. It was only there for a few seconds before it called, ‘_Hufflepuff!’ _The girl smiled wanly and hopped off to the yellow and black table who were clapping vigorously. 

The sorting went relatively quickly. Harry just wanted to get it over with, but his last name started with a ‘P.’ Hermione was sorted into Gryffindor along with Neville, which didn’t much surprise him. Ron went to Gryffindor and Harry was beginning to realize that he would likely be sorted somewhere else and end up alone. 

Draco went to Slytherin without so much as a blink and Harry watched him go, a little lost. Sure, Draco didn’t like him, but at least he knew him.

“Potter, Harry.” 

Harry jumped and everyone in the hall turned to stare, a roaring whisper rising up from the crowd. He blushed furiously and clutched Nyanko and his bag closer to himself. The walk to the front was the longest of his life.

He carefully placed Nyanko in his lap while he sat down on the stool, pointedly ignoring McGonagall’s quirked eyebrow at the sight of the fat cat. 

“Mr. Potter, it is not standard or encouraged to bring pets to the opening feast,” she said, quiet but stern. Her Scottish brogue was warm against his ears.

“Uh, I was nervous and wanted him here,” Harry replied, avoiding her gaze. “Is it not allowed?” 

“Well, it’s not...technically against the rules,” McGonagall sighed and looked vaguely pained, but it seemed like she had nothing else to say. She then let the hat drop down, and it sunk down to cover his eyes.

_ “What have we here?” _ A voice resounded through Harry’s head. _ “A young Harry Potter, I see. Very much like your mother, aren’t you?” _

_ I wouldn’t know, _ Harry thought, gripping Nyanko like a lifeline. Was this what the hat meant by _ ‘there’s nothing hidden in your head?’ _Mind reading?

_“Well, I suppose not,” t_he hat said, a little apologetically, “_but she saw spirits as well.” _Harry sucked in a breath._“Fear not, everything we discuss here is confidential._ _Let’s get down to business, shall we? Now, see here, you’re exceptionally loyal—a fine quality for Hufflepuff. Quite clever as well, good for Slytherin, but, well, no ambition. None at all! Young Potter, you should have some goals at the very least!”_

_ The goal is to get through the day without a demon attacking me most of the time, _Harry thought. The hat ignored him. 

“_You read a fair bit I see, but primarily about demons and spirits. No care for general knowledge. ‘Know thy enemy’ right, Mr. Potter? I believe you could grow that into a love of knowledge, Mr. Potter, but, well, Raveclaw wouldn’t do you any good anyway. It seems as though we’re between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.” _

_ Gryffindor? I’m not brave, not at all. _Harry thought, a bit distressed. He wanted to be with Neville, of course, but—he wasn’t brave. He ran from everything. He was terrified of most demons and spirits. He was always getting hurt and bullied. He was a coward. 

“_There is more than one type of bravery, Mr. Potter. The choice is clear to me now, yes, where you will thrive and grow—better be _ GRYFFINDOR!” 

The hat’s call echoed throughout the hall, and there was a split second of silence, of Harry frozen in fear underneath the cap, when a rowdy cheer ripped through the hall. The hat was taken from his head and McGonagall helped him up. He looked dazedly around, and the female professor put light pressure on the small of his back to usher him toward the table of maroon and gold. It was packed with chattering children in identical robes, staring at him in awe and fascination. 

Harry stumbled toward the table, hunting for a face he knew until it settled on Neville. The round-faced boy graced him with a soft smile and Harry went to go sit across from him, shrinking into a seat on the bench and lifting Nyanko back on top of his head. 

The people around him were grinning and a few gave him a clap on the back and congratulations. Harry felt as though a heavy fog had entered his brain and made everything distant and strange. 

“Harry, are you okay?” Neville inquired politely, a concerned look on his face.

“I think—I think the hat made the wrong choice. I’m not brave or bold, or...anything really,” Harry murmured, his voice cracking a bit. He felt like he was underwater as the dull roar of voices washed over him. 

“W-well, maybe it did with both of us then,” Neville said, giving him a watery smile. Harry didn’t know what to say to that, so he stared down at the table and tried to focus well enough to count the grains.

The rest of the ceremony blew by, and Harry couldn’t hear a word of it. He was sure that, at one point, the tall, wizened old man sitting at the head table with the rest of the professors had stood and given some sort of speech, but Harry still felt foggy and unaware. The next thing he knew, food was appearing in front of him in greater quantities than Harry had seen in his entire life. There was absolutely everything one could dream of, and Harry felt himself rising from his stupor to focus on the food.

“W-wow,” He mumbled. Harry’s mouth began to water, although he doubted he’d be able to eat very much since two pieces of toast usually filled him up. He scooped as many interesting things onto his plate anyway, determined to try as much as he could. 

He ate watchfully, keeping an eye on the people around him. They were all focused on their food for now, but Harry figured he’d get bombarded with questions when they finally finished. He wasn’t looking forward to trying to answer them. 

A piece of glowing dandelion fluff drift in front of Harry’s face and he gave a little puff of air to send it spiraling away. 

“So…,”

“Harry Potter, huh?”

Harry found himself suddenly surrounded as two boys slid onto the bench on either side of him, bumping other first years out of their way. An arm draped over him on each side, and Harry whipped his head back and forth to see who was suddenly fencing him in. It was two older boys, identical in most ways, with flaming red hair and wide grins. They looked a lot like Ron, and Harry instantly knew they were related. 

“Um, yeah that’s me,” Harry finally responded, ducking his head. Nyanko stayed in place, giving the boys sage looks.

“Why’s the boy-who-lived looking like the-boy-who’s-lost?” The one to Harry’s left said.

“Perhaps he needs some friends,” the one on the right added, grabbing for a bread roll and popping it in his mouth.

“Ickle Harry Potter, we’ll be your friends,” left said, his grinning splitting even wider. He gave Harry's shoulder a light squeeze and Harry tried his best not to feel overwhelmed. He clutched his bag in his lap.

“Who are you guys?” He asked, attempting to keep his tone level. It still wavered.

“Why, you don’t know?” Left gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. 

“He doefn’t know?” Right followed, voice muffled by the bread in his cheeks.

“Why, I’m Gred.”

“And I’m Forge.” 

“And it’s very nice to meet you.” 

Harry looked between them, a bit dizzy. 

“Um, Fred and George? Is that it? You’re Ron’s brothers?” He queried, puzzling out the odd names. “Right? Maybe? I’m sorry.”

The twins exchanged a look, shaking their heads in unison. 

“Mate, good catch. You’re a right genius,” Fred _ (was it Fred?) _said. George reached over and slapped him on the arm.

“Be nice to the ickle firstie, Freddie,” George told his twin, glancing patronizingly down on Harry who squirmed. “So, Mr. Harry Potter sir, speaking of Ron, care to explain the _ bug _incident? Or the bug that was, in fact, not a bug, and not there?” George grinned. 

Harry tensed sharply, the arms on his shoulders suddenly feeling much heavier and constraining.

“I—there _ was _a bug,” Harry said softly, fixing his eyes on his food. He’d only managed to eat a single portion of beans so far, but the rest of it didn’t look very appetizing anymore. 

“Oh, you can tell us the truth, little Harry-kins,” Fred cooed, his grip on Harry’s shoulder tightening minutely. 

“What’s all this about a bug?” An Irish accented voice cut in, and Harry glanced up to see a broad shouldered boy with brown eyes and an easy grin sitting across from him to his right. 

“Why, little Harry here played a little prank on our little brother,” George said. “Our ickle Ronniekins is absolutely terrified of bugs so little Harry here pretended he saw one on his neck.” George tapped his own neck emphatically. 

“You should know Harry, we maintain that only _ we _ can torment lil Ronnie,” Fred added. 

“I didn’t—there _ was a bug. _ I saw it,” Harry groaned. _ And I didn’t know he was scared of bugs, _Harry thought to add, but his throat was too dry to try to speak more. 

“I-I don’t think it was a prank,” Neville finally spoke up, looking up and then back down again at his peas. Neville’s quivering voice wasn’t exacting a ringing endorsement, but Harry felt a smidge of warmth in his tummy. 

“Seems like the jury’s out on this one, boys,” Fred said, nodding seriously. 

“Just make sure that when you want to play a prank, you get it cleared with the best,” George told Harry finally unlocking his arm from Harry’s shoulder. 

“Right George, we have a reputation to protect.” 

With that, both boys rose and swaggered back toward whatever part of the table they’d come from. Harry’s realized his face was heated and probably very, very red. He wasn’t sure if he felt more threatened or mortified—but either way he didn’t want to be at the table any longer. 

“I-I’m gonna go,” Harry said, rising to his feet. Neville looked at him sympathetically, but the pushy Irish boy snorted. 

“What? They were just teasing,” the boy said. Harry didn’t answer, busy trying to clamor over the bench without banging his shins or falling over.

“I think they’re going to show us to our dorms after the feast. How will you know where to go?” Neville said, worried. 

“I’ll, um, I’ll be back before then,” Harry lied. He hurriedly checked to make sure he had his bag and cat before practically running to the end of the hall, extremely grateful that he had taken a seat close to the door. He scurried out, glancing back at the head table and briefly locking eyes with a dark-eyed, man with lank black hair glaring at him from above his dinner. Harry couldn’t discern his features from the distance, but he winced and fled down the hall to escape the man’s eyes. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a bit headachy. 

“That was a disaster!” Nyanko said cheerfully once they’d made it far enough to talk, hopping down and walking in front of Harry, tail swishing. Harry groaned in reply. 

“Cheer up,” the cat said consolingly, “if you have no friends, that’s less people who could endanger the Book of Friends. So it’s actually a _ good _ thing.”

“That’s not comforting. I can’t believe I got threatened. I was threatened, wasn’t I?” Harry said. “What do you think they’ll do to me?”

“Maybe they’ll catch you and eat you,” Nyanko replied blithely. 

“Humans don’t eat each other,” Harry paused. “Well, they’re not supposed to...”

“Maybe that’s why you guys are so weird then. Not enough meat in your diet.”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned a corner, taking a moment to observe the ancient architecture and arched ceilings. There were rich tapestries hanging along the walls and whispering, moving portraits. It was so magical and absolutely _ different _ from Privet drive that Harry found himself soothed. Some dandelion spirits were clinging to Harry, sticking to his robe and twirling around his legs.

“I haven’t seen any spirits besides these ones,” Harry said, gesturing, “and...actually, what about the one from the train station? Did they follow us here?”

“I don’t know where they went, all this magic stuff is mucking up my senses,” the cat sneezed. 

Harry heard a _ thump _ and turned swiftly to see an older girl with dark hair and asian features standing at the entrance to what looked like bathrooms, wringing her damp hands.

“Geez, who are you talking to? You startled me,” she asked, eyebrows raised. She stooped to pick up a book she dropped.

“Uh, no one. Myself,” Harry answered swiftly.

“Uh-huh. Sure. Full on conversation with yourself then?” 

Harry nodded jerkily.

She gave him a suspicious look and muttered something before heading back in the direction of the Great Hall, long hair trailing behind her. 

“She called you a weirdo,” Nyanko told Harry helpfully. Harry buried his face in his hands and groaned again, then turned and started walking in the other direction once more.

“I’m making a big mess of things,” Harry murmured to himself. He gripped onto the strap of the messenger bag, frowning down at it and thinking of the book inside. He’d never not be weird when he had the Book of Friends and a demon cat tagging along, but he’d thought he could...maybe just pretend or something. Like he did on the train. Just, make friends who didn’t know he was strange, didn’t know his bully cousin, didn’t see him running from nothing through his neighborhood. He’d _ hoped _, but it was clear Harry wasn’t very good at pretending to be normal. He looked back at the glowing puffs stuck to him.

“I need to learn how to tell them apart,” Harry said, an idea sparking and a wave of sudden determination rushing through him. 

“Tell what apart?”

“Spirits and magic,” Harry replied. “I think that’ll be half my problem here, I don’t know what’s normal, so I can’t pretend to be normal.” 

“I don’t think that’s the real issue…,” Nyanko said, but Harry swooped over and picked up the cat, digging himself out of his bad mood through sheer force of will.

“We need to find the library,” Harry ordered, moving quickly through the hall now, cat tucked under his arm. “Let me know if you see any of those paper eating spirits.”

“You realize this castle is huge, right? Is the library even open when everyone is at the feast?” 

Harry stubbornly ignored him. 

\- - 

Harry was lost. Both Harry _ and _Nyanko were dreadfully, horribly lost. 

While the cat hadn’t been trying at first, now they were both frantically storming around the castle looking for something that looked even remotely familiar. 

“We passed that troll statue before, right?” Harry asked. The gray figure loomed over them in the dark, a snarl on it’s unattractive, granite face. 

“Three times,” the cat grumped. “Are the walls _ moving _?” 

“They must be, the stairs did.”

They both moaned. 

“How am I supposed to find the dorms?” Harry asked. “Oh, I shouldn’t have left during dinner. I should have...I don’t know. Just stayed and dealt with everyone. I _ told _ the hat I wasn’t brave.”

Nyanko gave Harry a blank stare and huffed. “Well, there’s nothing to do about it now but wait until a human stumbles across us. Honestly, I can’t believe we didn’t run into a _ single _ other spirit besides these useless wisps.” The cat batted at one of the dandelion spirits with an irritated wave of his paw.

“They must be avoiding us,” Harry said, slumping to the floor with his back pressed against the stone wall. He sighed. “Normally I’d love that. Oh gosh, it’s probably past curfew.”

“I-i-it is in-indeed p-passed c-c-curfew,” a quaking voice said and Harry jerked, knocking his head against the stone wall behind him in surprise. He immediately released a hiss of pain and leaned forward again, cradling the back of his head. Squinting through watery green eyes up into the gloom of the hall, he spotted a familiar purple turban. 

“Oh, um, Professor Quirrell?” Harry got to his feet, rubbing the back of his head. “I-I’m sorry, I got lost and—.”

Quirrell held up a hand, so Harry cut himself off.

“I-I understand Mr. P-P-Potter. Would y-you like m-m-me to lead you t-t-to Gryffindor T-T-Tower?” The man asked, a kind smile on his tan face. Harry knew the man’s eyes were warm and brown, but he could help crossing his arms and shivering slightly. It seemed cold in the hall all of the sudden.

“I-I’m not in trouble?” Harry asked, fumbling slightly as he walked a bit closer to the Professor. Nyanko trailed behind, his expression unreadable. 

“Well, I-I sh-should think-k-k it’s not un-uncommon for a f-f-first year to b-b-become lost,” Quirrell said, crooking his finger so Harry would follow him. Harry waited for Nyanko to hop on his head before hurrying after him.

“Why are you out so late, Professor?” Harry asked, desperate to break the sudden stifling silence in the corridor. The only sounds were the shuffling of feet on stone.

“A-All the p-p-professors p-patrol at n-n-night. W-we go in sh-shifts,” Quirrell explained, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder as they swooped around a corner. His fingers seemed icy, even through Harry’s layers.

“Oh, um, that sounds bad for your sleep schedule.” 

“I-its is not i-i-ideal,” Quirrell said, amusement coloring his tone. “Especially now th-that the t-third f-f-floor c-c-corridor is for-forbidden.” 

“Forbidden?” 

“W-were you n-n-not l-listening at the f-f-feast?” More amusement. Well, at least Harry was entertaining.

“I was, um, well—,” Harry cut himself off, blushing. He didn’t have a very good excuse, as far as he was concerned. _ I was having some kind of tantrum Professor, sorry, couldn’t see two feet in front of my face. _

“I u-understand. Hogwarts c-can b-b-be very d-distracting,” Quirrell told him. They were approaching the huge, towering hall of staircases that shifted underfoot. Harry had already been on one when it was swinging to and fro, clutching Nyanko like his life depended on it. “The t-third floor corridor is forbidden, f-f-for now.” 

They stood on one of the marble staircases and it began to swing, stone grinding and groaning beneath them. Harry wrapped his arms around the railing in panic. Eventually it came to a halt in front of a darkened corridor with a pale yellow ribbon stretched across. It went on past the point Harry could see, a black and foreboding stretch of nothing. Nyanko’s paws tensed slightly.

“Th-this hall,” Quirrell gestured with a sweeping arm motion. “Y-you w-w-would do w-well to av-v-void it.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice.

The stairs started moving again and deposited them on a nearby landing. They continued up a few more flights in relative silence until they ended up in a portrait hall. At the end of it hung a large oil painting of a wide woman in a pink dress. She gazed imperiously down on them.

“T-this is the entrance t-to the t-t-tower. I-I d-don’t suppose you know the p-p-password?” Quirrell asked, glancing down at the small boy beside him.

“Uh, no sorry,” Harry stammered, embarrassed once more for rushing out of the feast before it had finished. “Is there a doorbell?”

“Hm, no, b-b-but that’s a g-g-good suggestion.” 

Quirrell pulled his wand and gave the frame a light tap with his wand. Almost instantly a little bit of script appeared at the bottom of the oil painting by the fat lady’s foot. It read, _ ‘Butter whips.’ _

“C-common rooms are k-k-keyed to the p-p-professor’s wands,” Quirrell briefly explained. 

“Thank you so much for bringing me here, sir,” Harry gave the man a deferential nod. He wasn’t sure if it came off quite as respectful with the cat on his head, but he made his best effort. 

“No p-p-problem,” Quirrel said. “I w-won’t t-tell your H-head of H-h-house this t-time, but make s-sure there is n-no next t-t-ttime.”

Harry nodded his head vigorously and clearly stated the password to the woman in the portrait. She rolled her eyes lightly, but the portrait swung open.

“G-goodbye, Professor. I mean, goodnight too,” Harry said, climbing inside and turned back to the professor’s thin form, illuminated by the light inside the common room.

“Goodnight, Harry Potter. I’m sure I'll be seeing you soon,” the professor smiled kindly and the left in a whisper of fabric. Harry carefully closed the portrait and turned back to the room.

The Gryffindor common room was large and circular, covered in squashed looking chairs, pillows, blankets, and rugs. A fire crackled at the head of the room, and a wrought iron spiral staircase led to a secondary level with a wide, stained glass window. There weren’t many people lingering since it was still late, just a few older years, but Harry immediately spotted Neville sitting in a large armchair looking harried.

“Neville?” Harry asked delicately, approaching the boy quietly. He jumped anyway.

“Harry!” He exclaimed, leaping to his feet. A few of the older students looked their way with irritated expression and Neville hunched his shoulders in. “Harry you’re okay, gosh, I thought you’d never make it here.” 

“I got lost,” Harry told the other boy, unable to quell his embarrassment. “Um, Professor Quirrell led me back.” Neville looked a bit blank. “The one with the turban?” Ah, recognition.

“You should have stayed with the group. It’s the _ first _ night. Did you get in trouble?” Neville asked his. He reached down and collected a book he had clearly been reading before Harry came in.

“No, he said it was normal for first years to get lost.” 

“That’s a relief. D-do you want me to show you to our room?” Neville clamped down on his book tightly and looked at his feet. “We room together.” 

“Uh, sure.” 

Neville relaxed slightly and started moving. Harry followed him up a set of narrow stone steps by the entrance to the common room. It was dimly lit by candelabras, light catching every divet in the stones and casting dancing shadows on the walls. They passed several landings of double wooden doors until they stopped at the sixth one.

“Here,” Neville approached one of the rooms and swinging open the door. “We room with Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, and...Ron.” 

Inside the big semicircle room was a series of four-poster beds with hanging curtains. Each of the beds had maroon blankets and vibrant yellow pillows with a trunk set in front of each. A large window with an arch at the room centered the room, letting in starlight. There wasn’t a spirit to be seen.

“It’s so nice,” Harry said in awe. He glanced over to see one of the beds was occupied by a human-sized lump of blankets, but Ron and Seamus were both perched in their own beds, hardly paying attention to the newcomers.

“It is,” Neville agreed. “That one’s yours, right?” He pointed to the bed that Harry’s trunk lay in front of, which was just next to Ron’s bed. He grimaced lightly, looking at the red-haired boy who was pointedly _ not _ looking at Harry.

Nyanko hopped down and starting patrolling, sniffing around like a dog. Harry went over to his trunk to dig out pajamas.

“How is your cat so fat?” The pushy boy from dinner asked abruptly, now laying on his stomach in his bed and looking directly at Harry. The trunk in front of his bed read clearly, '_Seamus Finnegan_.'

“Um, he just is?” Harry responded, pulling a large shirt out of his trunk and a pair of extremely oversized plaid flannel pants. “I don’t know who had him before me, he was a stray.” 

Nyanko barked out an extremely unnatural sound, clearly offended at being called a stray. Seamus looked at the cat with poorly concealed disgust.

“Don’t you think it should, I dunno, go on a diet?” Seamus asked. Ron was looking between the two of them now, eyes wide. 

“I think he’s fine,” Harry responded, sensing that Seamus was trying to get a rise out of him for some reason.

“So, you don’t care?” 

Harry didn’t respond, only stripping off his robes and preparing to change. Obviously Nyanko was a demon, and his weight didn’t matter because he could look however he wanted. So Seamus’ words didn’t matter, even if they were irritating. 

The garbage-green shirt he’d picked was newer than all his others, although (obviously) one of Dudley’s. It was soft and worn, with a hole in the sleeve where Dudley had caught it on a tree branch while roughhousing in the school yard. 

“Wow Bones, you should eat something. Have you been giving it all to the cat?” This time Harry couldn’t help the bright flush that spread over his cheeks, to the tips of his ears, and down his chest. 

“Hey—why don’t we sleep?” Ron said, placing the book he probably hadn’t actually been reading down on his side table. He looked uncomfortable. 

“Aw, come on. Surely the Boy-Who-Lived can spare a few moments of his time to talk, since he’s been gone all night,” Seamus said, his smile wide and easy. 

“I’m not—I only found out about that a few weeks ago. Th-the whole dark lord thing,” Harry said, yanking his shirt over his head. He was scared to take change his pants, in case Seamus wanted to make a comment about his knobby knees as well.

“Really?” Seamus was genuinely surprised, and Ron seemed shocked as well. “I would have thought…,” he trailed off.

“I lived with my aunt and uncle who’re...muggles, is it? They, uh,” Harry’s throat went dry, “they don’t like magic much.” _ Or anything abnormal really. _

“Oh, that sucks,” Seamus said, nodding, but his tone wasn’t very sympathetic. “They the ones who pick your clothes?” He eyed the hole in the sleeve. 

Harry swallowed past a thick lump in his throat. He tried to force back the stinging behind his eyes, but Seamus’s discrete jabs were getting to him more than Dudley’s usual upfront ones. If the tone was different, maybe it would just be friendly teasing. 

_ Thought it would be different here _, he thought morosely. 

“L-leave off,” Neville said suddenly from his side of the room. His face was scrunched. “W-we’ve got to sleep. For classes tomorrow.” His blue eyes were locked on Seamus with weak determination. The taller boy shrugged, still unbothered. 

“Sure, maybe you’ll stick around to eat this time, aye Bones?” Seamus quipped before he leaned over and blew out the candle beside his bed, tucked himself under his own covers and flopped on his side. 

Silence reigned in the room, with Ron, Harry, and Neville staring at each other like frightened deer. Ron was first to break away, turning and collapsing under his own blankets and Neville quickly did the same. Harry found himself in darkness, only the soft light trailing through the window from the stars to illuminate Nyanko’s round form. 

Harry flopped onto his bed, placing the back of his hand against his eyes so he didn’t have to see the embroidered sun pattern on the underside of his bed drapes. A pressure beside him on the bed let him know Nyanko was there.

“Tomorrow night we’ll call Surrey,” the cat said quietly. Harry’s brain sluggishly recalled the small god with the acorn mask.

“Right, right,” Harry whispered back. He waited in the quiet for a second, breathing slowly and letting the feeling of built up tears and stress trickle to the back of his head. 

“I hope tomorrow is better than today was,” Harry said. 

Nyanko didn’t answer, and when Harry removed his hand from his eyes he saw the cat had left. Something sour crept up the back of his throat, but he swallowed and did not cry. 

Or, he tried very hard not to. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It's been a while. 6 months or something, I think? I took a long break from this fic, and while I'd like to say that now I'm back, refreshed, and better than ever, that's not entirely true. 
> 
> I started writing this fic after a long time of not writing at all, so I knew it was never going to be my best work, but I'm pretty unsatisfied with it in general. As of right now, I'm not abandoning this. I'm going to finish editing and posting the chapters I already have finished, then see where I'm at with it. Maybe I'll update it very sporadically, try to remember my original intentions. This fic was always kinda supposed to be long, a bit tropey, and not exactly a masterpiece work. I do truly care for it. I love crossovers, and uncommon crossovers are my bread and butter. It's hard for me to look at all the things I'd like to improve and just ignore them to write for pure shits and giggles, but I also really don't like abandoning things. I don't know, I'm very conflicted. Rest assured though, I do have several more chapters to post.
> 
> Right now, I think I'll do my best to keep going until I reach some sort of natural conclusion with it. I don't want to make any promises, but that's my goal now. 
> 
> Also, let me know if you guys see any blatant errors. Until next time!


	7. There Was a Season That Changed

Morning came even when Harry could have done without it. 

“Harry, wake up. We get our schedules at breakfast,” a soft voice said, and Harry blinked his eyes open to see a round face and kind eyes.  _ Neville,  _ his brain whispered. 

“Oh, erm, th’nks Nev’lle,” Harry slurred, rolling to the other side of his bed. He stumbled to his feet and saw that Neville was already dressed, and a quick glance at the other beds told him Seamus and Dean were gone already. Ron was rustling through his trunk with sleep-dazed eyes.

Neville smiled at him before he turned and left the room, leaving Ron and Harry in awkward, drowsy silence. Harry quickly dug out his robes and clothes, knotting the red and gold tie that had been draped over his trunk with no small amount of difficulty. 

Once he felt halfway presentable, he cast around for Nyanko but the fat cat was nowhere to be seen. Steeling his nerves, he coughed to get Ron’s attention. The freckled boy looked over with clear disinterest.

“Erm, um, have you seen Nyanko? Um, my cat?” Harry asked. Ron narrowed his eyes and Harry flinched.

“I haven’t seen him since last night,” Ron said, then added. “I have a rat, Scabbers, so make sure you keep that thing away from him.”

“Um, okay, I will,” Harry replied stiffly, certain he should have just asked someone else. He gathered his messenger bag and tucked his wand into the pocket of his trousers—maybe he’d finally get to use it. 

There were a few tense moments where both boys shuffled around the room one more time before they both made a move toward the door. 

When they reached the knob at the same time, Harry yanked his hand back to make sure he wouldn’t get in Ron’s way. The taller boy looked toward the ceiling, sighing. 

“Look, Seamus was being a jerk last night,” Ron said. “I didn’t really like your idea of a joke on the train since I really,  _ really _ hate bugs, and, I dunno, you just left and didn’t come back for a while. And you didn’t really listen to me at all while I was talking. I was okay with just leaving it alone, so I don’t know why he felt like he had to…,” Ron trailed off. His face was pinched, as if he was in pain. 

“It’s not your fault,” Harry quickly said. “I mean, like I said, I wasn’t trying to trick you, but it’s not your fault what Seamus says anyway.” Ron hesitated, but then nodded at him. 

“Well, whatever. No hard feelings mate. Let’s just go,” Ron shrugged his bag on his shoulder and was out the door. Harry allowed himself a small smile at the feeling of a truce settling around his shoulders. Maybe they wouldn’t be friends, but Harry was okay with not being enemies. 

Nyanko was waiting just outside the portrait hole with a wide grin on his face. Harry scowled but didn’t make himself look insane by talking directly to his cat, instead letting him flop onto his head.

The boys made their way down to the Great Hall by following a couple of older years, walking together but not talking.

“I think I know the way around now,” Nyanko said. “While you were being useless and sleeping, I was taking the grand tour.” The cat flung a paw out dramatically. Harry rolled his eyes, but he was conscious of Ron nearby and didn’t respond verbally. 

The Great Hall was full of sleepy students meandering about. Several professors were wandering, handing papers out along the different house tables. Harry glanced around and noticed Neville eating and chatting with a few other first years, so he sat down at the end by himself and plopped Nyanko down beside him. There were some whispers around him, but he pushed down his embarrassment best he could. 

The food was just as glorious as the night before. Harry dug in with gusto, scooping as many different foods onto his plate as he could. 

A single hoot was the only warning when a cluster of owls descended from an open window at the top of the hall. Harry blinked in surprise at the flurry of feathers, watching with unhidden delight as parcels and mail were dropped into the laps of the children around him. 

“Mr. Potter, your schedule,” a clipped voice behind him announced, and Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall holding a folded piece of parchment out for him. The students around him immediately quieted and stared, so Harry quickly and nervously snatched it up.

“Thanks a lot,” Harry said, when McGonagall didn’t immediately leave. She adjusted her stack of papers and gave him a level look.

“You left before the end of the feast last night Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said. It was a statement of fact. Harry stiffened. 

“Uh, well, I thought I’d explore? I wasn’t hungry,” Harry’s eyes followed a dandelion wisp as it floated around the older woman’s head. It was much easier than making eye contact. 

“In the future, please refrain from going off on your own when there are organized group activities in session,” she told him, her voice reproachful. “Three points from Gryffindor this time, Mr. Potter. You’re only lucky you didn’t get lost. I trust this will not happen again?”

There was a combination of snickers and annoyed looks being cast Harry’s way now, and he lowered his head, staring at the hem of Professor McGonagall’s robe. 

“Yes, professor,” Harry whispered. McGonagall’s foot shifted only slightly, as if she was hesitating, before she turned on her heel and moved away. More titters around him.

“Let’s blow this tuna can,” Nyanko proclaimed, hopping to the floor and looking back at Harry expectantly. Harry abandoned his untouched plate, grabbed a scone, and quickly went after him, eager to get away from the watchful eyes of his peers. He felt like an animal at a zoo.

They hustled out of the great hall as fast as they were able without running. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw something shift and slide into his vision and he immediately froze, staring at the corner of the hall. There, standing there as if he belonged, was the demon from the train station. Its wide grin was at full capacity.

Someone slammed into Harry’s back, breaking the eye contact. Harry stumbled forward, just able to catch himself before he face planted. 

“Mate, don’t just stop suddenly,” the person behind him groaned. Harry didn’t look to see who it was—he ran out of the hall.

“They’re here!” Harry hissed at Nyanko, gathering him up and hustling down the corridor.

“I see that.”

“What do we  _ do _ ?”

“Well,  _ you  _ have  _ class _ .”

Harry stopped abruptly in the hall and unfolded his parchment.

“Right,” Harry said, “yeah, class. Charms, it says, with Professor Flitwick? Do you know where the charms classroom is?”

“Charms? Pah,” Nyanko snorted. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

Harry stared. “Is that a yes or a no?”

Nyanko stared back. Harry sighed.

“ _ Charms with Professor Flitwick, you say?”  _ A breathy voice inquired, and Harry jumped and spun around. It seemed like everyone liked to sneak up on him. 

Harry was immediately relieved to see it wasn’t the Wide-Grin behind him, but instead a spirit with large mouse ears and a blindfold. Their face seemed human underneath, decorated with a constellation of freckles and framed with silver, shoulder-length hair, but large front teeth were poking out of their smile and several whiskers protruded from their cheeks. Large, furred feet stuck out from underneath rather ratty looking brown robes tied at the center with a length of rope. 

A few students passed, looking curiously at Harry, so he quickly drew closer to the wall.

“ _ I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle,”  _ the mouse said. “ _ How fun though!” _

“It’s fine,” Harry whispered. “Is there somewhere we could talk?”

_ “Talk? Oh that’s not necessary,”  _ Mouse said pleasantly. “ _ I only wished to lead you to your classroom.”  _

“What do you want out of it?” Nyanko piped up. 

_ “Oh, well, ideally my name back. That can wait though,”  _ Mouse crooked a clawed hand and started to walk ahead, leading them to their destination. Harry and Nyanko made brief eye contact before following them. “ _ Really, the other spirits around the castle wanted me to see who brought such a powerful demon around. They’re scared stiff!”  _ Mouse giggled, then turned their head slightly to look at Harry,  _ “It’s good to see you again, Lily.” _

“Um, sorry, no. Lily was my Mum,” Harry mumbled, pushing past another gaggle of students—Ravenclaws, if he had his colors right.

_ “Oh, well I suppose you  _ ** _are_ ** _ shorter,”  _ Mouse hummed. “ _ We’re not that far, Charms is just around the corner. So, what do I tell the others? Are you here to eat us?” _

“No...no!” Harry said, bopping Nyanko lightly with his foot when the cat demon licked his lips. 

_ “Oooh that’s good! I don’t really want to be eaten. I hear it’s very not fun.” _

The group turned the corner and spied an open door. Hushed voices were echoing through the hall, and a few first years wearing red and gold ties walked in.

“ _ Here you are!”  _ Mouse said proudly, gesturing with a wide paw.  _ “Just like I said! Now I’ll go back and let the others know you aren’t looking for...dinner.”  _ Mouse giggled again. It was a wheedly, high-pitched sound.

“Thanks, I’ll return your name sometime,” Harry smiled shyly, ignoring Nyanko’s wail of distress. 

_ “That would be nice. Tah!”  _ The mouse turned and drifted down the hall, expertly dodging students. 

“Nyanko, you’ll need to wait out here,” Harry said to the round cat, squatting to look him in the eye. “Don’t go wandering off.” Harry wondered if this was the only normal thing he’d said to the cat the whole time they’d been together.

“Yeah yeah,” Nyanko grumbled, looking put out. Harry smiled at him and reached a hand out to pat his head, laughing when it was swatted away.

“That cat is  _ really  _ unhealthy looking,” came a familiar voice by the door. It was Hermione, a book clasped in her hands and a rather disdainful angle to her head. “I’ve read that cats should be between 10 and 12 pounds.” 

“Oh. Well,” Harry looked down at Nyanko’s slitted eyes before standing and facing Hermione. “I just got him.” 

“Well, make sure he’s eating properly now that he’s under your care,” she said, her eyebrows coming together in concern. 

Harry promised he would, and they filed into the classroom, taking a seat toward the front where he would draw the least attention. The desks were raised and stacked like an amphitheatre, which Harry found quite different than what he was used to, and the room was brightly lit, plastered, and painted a buttery yellow. To his chagrin, Hermione plopped down right beside him.

“I’m very excited. My parents are dentists, you see, and they were ever so surprised when an owl arrived with my letter. I’ve already practiced all the spells I could from the books and they’ve worked for me so far, but…,” her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. Harry leaned away.

“When did you get to practice them?” He asked, wishing he could move seats without seeming rude. Hermione just seemed like...too much for him. He much preferred the quiet support of Neville, who had seated himself toward the middle of the room.

“Oh while I was home,” Hermione commented nonchalantly. Harry blinked.

“Isn’t that illegal? Since we’re underage?”

“The trace only comes into effect on our first day of school,” Hermione said, a knowledgeable air around her. “Many magical children receive minor homeschooling up until they reach Hogwarts, so it allows for that.” 

“Oh,” Harry said simply, turning back to the front and resting his chin on his hand.  _ I could’ve been practicing with my wand,  _ Harry moaned inwardly,  _ I’m probably the only one who will be completely clueless. _

“Shouldn’t you know this?” Hermione inquired, cocking her head. “I mean, you’re Harry Potter.”

“Raised by muggles.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, her mouth forming a small circle. “ _ Oh _ .” She seemed at a loss, but it didn’t matter since suddenly there was a tap of a wand on wood and the door to the classroom door closed.

Professor Flitwick, an odd looking man of small stature with sharp ears and a sharp nose, stood balanced on a stack of books at the front of the room. He smiled warmly and started reading off names for attendance, going mostly uninterrupted until he read Harry’s name and toppled off his tower. Most of the students turned to stare at Harry and he sunk down in his seat. 

Once Flitwick had recovered and made his way through the attendance sheet, he started on his lecture.

“Most of your first week will be focused on theory work,” the professor informed them, “but I like to start the year off with a bit of a bang to get everyone excited about magic and the new school year. Yes, that’s right, practical work! Today we will be practicing a simple levitation charm.  _ Wingardium Leviosa. _ Swish and flick!”

With a snap of his wand, Flitwick raised up one of his book piles. There were a few gasps of awe from the muggleborns and Hermione jittered with excitement beside him.

“We’ll be practicing with something light, of course. The heavier the object, the greater the strain on your magic, which is why you should never try to levitate anything that you couldn’t lift yourself. That’s the nature of this charm. Now, I will distribute some feathers for you to float, and we’ll get started. Remember, clear pronunciation and swish and flick.”

Once they all had feathers lying in front of them the classroom filled with the stuttered beginnings of spellwork. Harry looked at his own feather with trepidation, drawing out his wand. 

“I’ve never seen a wand with a carved handle like that,” Hermione commented. “Is there a practical reason or is it just decorative?” 

Harry shrugged and privately thought that if Hermione’s parents were dentists then she must not have seen many wands anyway. Hermione gave a quiet huff and turned to her feather.

“ _ Wingardium Leviosa,”  _ she incanted. The feather rose steadily in the air and Hermione gave it a confident smirk. Harry felt his nerves skyrocket. He faced his own feather.

“ _ Wingardium Leviosa,”  _ Harry said quietly, trying to think light thoughts. The feather fluttered upward, but dropped back down. 

“Hm, well, you pronounced it right,” Hermione said, scratching her cheek. 

Harry gave it another try, but the feather hopped just once like a jumping fish.

“Not bad for a first try, Mr. Potter!” Flitwick cut in jovially, standing to the side of their shared desk. “Although, I think I see your problem here. Try to speak with more confidence and volume, you’re a wizard after all! Spellwork also depends on  _ intention  _ and  _ attitude _ , not just doing the motions correctly.”

_ I’m a wizard,  _ Harry told himself, tightening his fist,  _ I’m a wizard. Not a freak.  _ He levelled his wand at the feather once more.

“ _ Wingardium Leviosa,”  _ he said clearly, raising his voice. He blinked when the feather seemed to disappear, then tilted his head up.

“Oh my,” Flitwick said, looking up at the feather jabbed into one of the wooden rafters. “I think a bit too much flick on that one Mr. Potter.”

There was an explosion behind them and they all turned around to see Seamus Finnegan with soot on his face and a singed feather in front of him.

“Well,” Hermione said, “at least that didn’t happen.” 

Harry sighed. 

\- -

The rest of the day’s classes buzzed by with little issue. Harry found History of Magic to be quite dull, even with the excitement of having a ghost for a teacher, but Harry was rather certain Professor Binns had no idea he was even teaching in the first place. Half the class fell asleep in the first 20 minutes. 

Nyanko stalked beside him from class to class, moaning about how bored he was. They saw no other spirits despite Mouse’s promising words, but Harry was also grateful that he didn’t catch wind of Wide-Smile either. 

Evening swept in soundlessly and soon it was time for dinner. Harry was desperate to actually sit down and eat for once, but also certain he would be too nervous. Instead, he decided to sweep by, grab a few rolls and tuck them away in his deep robe pockets. The pressure of eyes on him didn’t dissipate until he’d left the hall, and he was relieved he didn’t stay. 

“I’m pretty sure humans can’t live off bread,” Nyanko said, flouncing beside Harry. 

“I’ll just make my best effort then,” Harry quipped. “Where are we going to call Surrey?” 

“There's a hall full of mostly empty classrooms. Come on.”

Harry followed the calico up a few flights of stubborn stairs until they reached a long corridor coated in shadows. A familiar yellow ribbon was strung across from wall to wall.

“Hey, this is the forbidden corridor,” Harry protested, even as Nyanko walked under the sagging ribbon.

“Yes, which means there’s no one around. Come on, only one of the doors is locked anyway,” Nyanko strolled away. Harry groaned, stepped over the cord, and followed. 

There were no lights in the hall, so Harry trailed his hand against the stone wall and listened for the sound of Nyankos quiet feet. 

Harry shuddered and was relieved to follow Nyanko into one of the empty classrooms. It was dark, musty, cobwebbed, and altogether unappealing.

“Come on, we need that sealing paper,” Nyanko said, impatiently whacking his tail on one of the desks. 

“What do I do?” Harry asked.

“Just find his page and call him.”

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Just  _ call  _ him.”

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled the Book of Friends out of his bag, eyelids fluttering shut so he could concentrate. He searched through his memories and conjured an image of Surrey’s small form, focusing on the acorn mask, his lilting smile, his smoking pipe, and the way his legs swung as he sat on a high branch of the tree in the Dursley’s garden. There was a soft shift of paper, and he opened his eyes to see a single page pointed skyward.

“ _ Broadfield,”  _ Harry called softly, “ _ Broadfield, please come here.” _

There was a moment of silence, then a pressure, a stuck heartbeat, a whisper, and Surrey was sitting peacefully on one of the desks, a sheaf of paper sitting beside him. His mouth was a thinly curved, content smile.

“ _ Wonderful!”  _ Surrey said. “ _ Very pleased to see you again lad. Madara, you too.”  _ He nodded at both of them and patted his stack of papers, looking at Harry, “ _ I’ve kept my end of the bargain, are you ready to keep yours?” _

_ _ “Of course,” Harry said. 

_ “Oh, I’m so excited!”  _ Surrey said, tilting his head back and giving a deep chuckle.

“Are you sure you’re strong enough for this?” Nyanko asked dubiously. Harry thought he was speaking to him, but Surrey was the one to respond.

“ _ I have to be strong enough for this,”  _ Surrey said. “ _ Perhaps it might even help, who knows the fickle song of power?” _

Harry’s brain stuttered to a halt. 

“Wait, what?” He held up a hand. “Is—is something wrong? Are you okay?” 

“ _ I am a god no one believes in,”  _ Surrey said regretfully, swinging his legs.  _ “I used to be full sized, much taller than you at my peak. But I drew my power from belief, and now no one believes.”  _ Surrey gestured to himself,  _ “I grow smaller and weaker, day by day. There is but one, in my hometown, who still leaves offerings at my hill shrine.”  _

“So—you’re disappearing?” 

_ “I’m afraid so,”  _ Surrey said, his voice sad.  _ “My only regret is that I cannot see her, my last believer, one last time. Tell her she was not wrong. She has always been there for me, as long as she’s lived. It’s such a shame…,”  _ Surrey looked at his small hands, “... _ when humans cannot see.”  _

Harry’s heart clenched. 

“That’s what I mean, we’re not sure if this will draw off of you or Harry while you’re in this state,” Nyanko said, laying down on one of the desks and crossing his paws. “Spiritual power is finicky. If it draws from you, you will have only  _ moments _ left instead of years.” 

“I—are you sure you want to?” Harry asked. “I don’t want to—,” Harry didn’t finish, but his own thoughts echoed loudly throughout his mind.

_ I don’t want to be the reason you die. I don’t want anyone to die at all. _

Surrey smiled comfortingly anyway, as if he knew. 

“ _ If I am to disappear,”  _ the god told them both, tilting his head up. “ _ I would like to be whole when I do so.”  _

Harry bit his lip. He nodded.

He tore Surrey’s page out of the book and delicately folded it, pressing it between his lips and letting his tongue wet the paper. 

_ In through my nose, out through my mouth. _

He breathed and watched the ink spiral away from the page, drifting through the dust motes in the air toward Surrey, who waited with rapt attention.

  
  


_ It was winter, and Broadfield stood on his hill with a soft smile on his face. Snow drifted down from the sky and fell on his shoulders, piling in cold drifts around him. The sky was a wash of lavender, pink, and peach hues streaking across the skyline around the rolling plains.  _

_ “What a lovely sight!” He said to himself, wiping ice from his oak mask. “Truly marvelous! Are you seeing this, Liz?”  _

_ Broadfield turned to a young girl, only around 7 or 8 years old, kneeling in the snow next to a small stone house. She was dressed in a thick wool coat and a mauve dress, her leather boots dug in by toes. Liz spoke under her breath in smooth tones, her head bent and her eyes squeezed shut. _

_ “Please,” she mumbled, “keep my mom and little brother safe and warm this winter. They’re all I have left.”  _

_ Broadfield crept closer and smiled, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She shuddered, but didn’t look up. _

_ “You need only ask, child.” Broadfield whispered. _

_ The winter was short that year.  _

  
  


_ It was spring and the flowers were blooming around his hill in bursts of colors. The green was welcome after a long, hard winter, and Broadfield lay in the tall grasses, breathing in the sweet smell of lawn clippings and soil. He wore a new mask he’d made from willow leaves since his oak mask had become too big. _

_ There was a rustle of grass and Broadfield popped his head up to see a young teen heading his way, a somber expression painting her face. She cradled a basket of apples and a bundle of cotton, and gently set it down in front of the crude stone house .  _

_ “Hello,” Liz said, older now, her voice pitched lower, “I’ve brought you some things I think you’ll like.”  _

_ Broadfield went to sit by her, trailing a hand along the head of one of the tall tulips by his home.  _

_ “I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier,” She paused, her face crumpling and twisting. “They keep telling me not to come. It was just—,” She put her face in her hands, “ _ — _ it’s just so hard sometimes. I know—I know you can’t fix everything, but my mother lost her job at the hospital and—.” She sobbed, falling to her knees and curling into herself.  _

_ Broadfield drifted around her, flustered. Her tears wouldn’t stop.  _

_ “Everyone keeps telling me it’s a waste of time,” she moaned. Broadfield laid a hand on her shoulder and felt her stiffen. She looked up, whipping her head around, brown eyes glistening with tears. She couldn’t see him, but she must have felt a weight on her shoulder. _

_ “Although I cannot set the path of fate, I’m here, Liz,” Broadfield said softly. “For all that it’s worth, I will always be here.”  _

  
  


_ Summer, the sun beating down from the sky and casting light on the plants around him. Dark clouds drifted nearby, heavy with rain.  _

_ A woman ran up to Broadfield’s stone house, a brilliant smile on her face. _

_ “Hello again!” She cried, her smile exuberante, brighter than the beating sun. “Guess what? He finally asked!” She laughed loudly, spinning with glee before tumbling down into the grass. “I’m getting married! Can you believe it?!”  _

_ Broadfield laughed with her and perched on his stone house. He was small enough that he could use it as a stool now, which was convenient.  _

_ “I’m so happy for you,” he said. “He’d better be good to you!” _

_ “I’m so happy,” Liz said, an unknowing echo. “I’ve never been happier.”  _

  
  


_ It was autumn. The grass around his hill was dried and brown, and a crisp note was in the air. The forest off in the distance was a sea of red, gold, and orange. Broadfield stood on his hill, sucking in deep breaths of air.  _

_ “Lovely,” he said. “How is this not lovely?” _

_ Behind him sat a girl, around 13 years of age. Her long red hair was tied into a loose ponytail and her bright green eyes were half lidded with disinterest.  _

_ “It’s not that it’s not interesting,” Lily said. “It’s just that there’s no fun demons around. This is my vacation, I want to chase demons!” She stamped a boot petulantly.  _

_ “Now, now, surely it’s not that dull,” Broadfield said.  _

_ “It is!” Lily raged, falling backward onto the hill. “No one wants to come near a god’s territory.” _

_ “Well, yes, I suppose that is my fault.”  _

_ “Hello?” A melodic voice called. Lily sat up to see Liz picking her way through the field with a bewildered look on her face and a basket in her arms. Her face was becoming lined with age now, Broadfield noted, and a streak of gray ran through her hair. “Oh, you’re in town visiting with your family, right?” _

_ “Hi, yes, that’s us,” Lily said. “Are you the one who prays to the god here?”  _

_ “Oh, yes. I suppose they mentioned me in town?” Liz said. She placed a few rolls of bread by the house. “It’s just me and my mother who pray now I guess _ — _ although she mostly comes around just for the habit. It must be so sad for him.” She stroked the stone with her index finger.  _

_ Broadfield shook his head in fondness. _

_ “How do you know it's him?” Lily asked pointedly, in the way children often do.  _

_ “I have a feeling…,” Liz trailed off, placing a hand against her face, “...just a feeling.”  _

_ “If you’ve never seen him, then why do you still pray?” _

_ Liz paused, a serene smile painting her face, “Sometimes faith is about more than seeing. When I was a little girl, times were hard sometimes, but I never felt alone because of him.” Liz traced the outline of the stone house with deep fondness in her eyes.  _

_ “I think I get it,” Lily said, her gaze sharp. She stood and brushed off her legs. “We’re going now. He promised me something if I win at hide and seek.” She grabbed Broadfield’s hand and started to drag him away. He only came up to her hip, so it wasn’t difficult.  _

_ “Who did?” Liz asked. Although confused, she waved at Lily as she ran away. _

  
  


_ It was autumn again, but the wind was much colder and the sun was setting over the hills in a rage of red and purple. _

_ “I’m getting too old for this!” Liz said. She sat beside Broadfield on the hill, wispy white hair dancing in the wind around her and her face creased with age. Broadfield smiled. He was only a bit bigger than a doll now. His mask was an acorn cap, although it was a tad too small. It would fit better later, he knew. _

_ “I keep trying to get my son Bruce to come up here to pray, but, well, you can’t force people to believe in things I suppose.” _

_ Broadfield nodded in understanding.  _

_ “I’m afraid—,” Liz sighed, her thin shoulders hunching. She coughed lightly, “I’m afraid no one will come here once I’m gone. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to leave because no one comes here.”  _

_ Broadfield placed a small hand on hers, observing the way blue veins rose from her pale skin. Her nails were neatly filed, unpainted, crisp, and clean. _

_ “It’s okay. I’ll be here,” he whispered, looking up into her unfocused brown eyes. “For all that it’s worth, I will always be here. Not for anyone, but for you.”  _

_ Liz smiled. _

  
  


Harry gasped, consciousness rising as he wobbled on his feet. He focused his bleary eyes, casting around the empty classroom for a familiar acorn mask. 

“He’s gone,” Nyanko answered the unasked question. 

Harry nodded jerkily, pushing the palms of his hands against his eyes. Fatigue settled in around his shoulders.

“I saw his memories,” Harry told the cat, voice cracking. “I feel like I knew him and her _ — _ Liz...I feel like I knew them both, at least a little.”

Nyanko nodded, coming over to place a paw on Harry’s shoe. 

“It’s just so  _ sad _ ,” Harry breathed. The classroom felt like a wide expanse, emptier and larger than before. Harry took his hands off his eyes and walked over to the stacked desks where Surrey— _ Broadfield _ had been sitting. He found, lying upside down, an acorn cap. He tucked it away in his pocket and collected the sealing papers. 

When Harry arrived back at the dorms, he immediately dressed for bed and pulled his curtains shut, tucking the Book of Friends under his pillow. Mushi crawled out from somewhere and climbed up to Harry’s lap. 

“Where have you been?” Harry whispered, smiling at the mushroom spirit. He petted its head and it squirmed. “That forest by the castle is your home right? You should go home.”

Mushi only looked at him with beady black eyes. Harry shook his head in exasperation.

“Here,” Nyanko popped through the curtains and onto the bed, a string trailing from his mouth. The cat put it on the bedspread beside him.

“What’s this for? Where’d you get it?” 

“Make his mask into a necklace,” Nyanko said. “The mask of a god is a powerful thing. He must have wanted you to have it—that’s why it was there.” 

Harry pulled the acorn cap out of his pocket, watching the way its color and form seemed to warp and slither in the shadows. It seemed so much smaller now, with no one to wear it. He picked up one end of the string and carefully ran it through the two pin-sized holes of the mask.

“Won’t it break if I sleep with it on?” Harry asked, tying the string tight around his neck so the acorn cap sat in the hollow of his throat.

“It’s a god’s mask, of course not,” Nyanko chastised. Harry laid back on his bed, feeling heaviness pull on his eyelids. “You need to sleep—you still used some spiritual power.”

“I saw Lily again, in the memories,” Harry mumbled, turning his head into his pillow. “She seemed...fun…”

Nyanko stayed silent.

“Wanna...know more…,” Harry said, and then his head was soon tumbling into the soft ribbons of sleep.

_ \- -  _

_ It was a hospital room. White, sterile, except for a vase of tulips on the side table. They were picked from Broadfield’s hill, and although the god was nowhere to be seen, Harry could feel him. _

_ Liz sat in the hospital bed, looking thin and weary. A big man with a full beard and the same brown eyes as Liz sat by her side, holding her hand and looking into her face with quiet desperation. Quiet resignation.  _

_ “Mom, how are you feeling?”  _

_ “Been better,” she said, her voice dry and withering. “Have you been by the hill yet?” _

_ “I went. I left the fruit there like you asked,” Bruce said. Because it had to be Bruce, Harry knew.  _

_ “Good, good. You know, this is going to sound crazy,” Liz’s body wracked with a cough. Bruce clutched her hand tighter and made shushing noises. “No, listen Brucey. This is going to sound crazy but—I think I saw him one time. One day...one day in spring.” _

_ “Who?” Bruce asked quietly, running a finger across the veins of her thin hand. _

_ “The god on the hill,” Liz said, her voice wistful. “I saw him, just there among the flowers. He was wearing a wooden mask.” Her hand gestured weakly toward her face, “I thought he’d disappear if I said anything, so I crouched behind a shrub. I hid like a fool—but he looked so...at peace.”  _

_ “Is that why you always believed?” _

_ “I would have believed no matter what,” Liz whispered. Her eyes fluttered. “Because...he told me...he told me he’d always be there...for me.”  _

_ And her heart, full of love, shuddered to a stop.  _

  
  


_ “Harry…thank you…,” Broadfield’s voice trickled in like a fog, the scene blurring like Harry was viewing it through tears. “Thank you, so much...for making me whole.”  _


	8. There Was a Man Filled with Hate

The first thing Seamus did was make fun of Harry’s necklace. 

Harry wasn’t  _ embarrassed _ —the remnant of his brief moment with Broadfield was important to him after all—but a heated flush of irritation rose to his cheeks when Seamus asked him if he’d found the necklace on the ground outside. It was almost fascinating how the boy made seemingly inane questions into insults simply by modifying his tone.

“I don’t know, it’s kind of cute,” Neville cut in, looking at the necklace with interest. “Very woodsy.”

“Yeah, that’s right, Bones,” Seamus said, smirking, “cute.”

Neville was the one that flushed at that, offense clear in his expression. 

“Oak trees don’t grow in this climate,” Neville then pointed out, visibly squelching his emotions. “Most of Europe is too cold.” 

Everyone turned to look at him. 

“I like plants,” he mumbled. 

“A...friend gave it to me,” Harry said, reaching up to lay a finger against the acorn cap. He could feel it move against his throat when he spoke. It was comforting. 

“Well they certainly spared no expense,” Seamus said. Harry frowned.

“Come on Harry, let's get to breakfast,” Neville said, his expression darkening. With that, he grabbed Harry’s hand and started to drag him away. Harry almost wrenched his hand back, startled at the feel of another's skin against his own, but managed to slacken. Neville pulled him all the way to the portrait hole before he realized he was still holding Harry’s hand. 

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!” Neville exclaimed, dropping Harry’s hand like it was on fire. 

_ Is his face turning maroon?  _ Harry thought.  _ That can’t be healthy.  _

Harry spared the other boy and told him it was fine, and both of them climbed out of the portrait hole to meet the week’s classes. Nyanko met up with them outside, smiling and looking between the two boys with interest. Privately, Harry was warmed that Neville wanted to walk with him to breakfast. It was nice...almost like having a friend.

\- - 

Classes at Hogwarts were far more like normal school than he would have liked, even if everything being magic did cast a light of excitement on the whole thing. If only he didn’t have homework to do. The two foot paper on basic star formation wasn’t going to write itself, after all.

_ Well, I might be more biased against astronomy in particular,  _ Harry thought,  _ I can think of better ways to spend my time than shivering on a tower at midnight. _

Harry had also been pleased that, since Tuesday, Neville had taken to walking with Harry to and from class with Nyanko at the lead. They spent Tuesday and Wednesday evening huddled in the common room making small talk about their classes, favorite foods, and Hogwarts in general. Harry found that while they didn’t have much in common regarding their hobbies, Neville was easy to laugh and nonplussed by Harry’s generally awkward demeanor. 

“Sorry I’ve not been more talkative,” Harry said, while he and the other boy were walking to transfiguration in heavy silence. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Neville said, shaking his head. Harry bit his lip and tried to see Neville’s expression out of the corner of his eye, and the boy’s smile  _ seemed _ genuine, but... 

“No, seriously, don’t worry about it,” Neville repeated when he caught Harry’s glance. “School has been pretty nerve wracking for me and, well, I didn’t think I belonged here when I arrived and I still kind of don’t but...I get that some things are really scary. You’re just nervous, right?” 

_ Oh gosh, was I that transparent?  _ Harry thought, but he nodded. 

“I heard transfiguration is really hard and McGonagall is really strict and I can’t seem to calm down about it. Wha—why don’t you think you belong here? You grew up a wizard, right?” Neville hadn’t explicitly said as much until now, but it seemed obvious with the way he took everything from the moving stairs to the talking portraits in stride..

“I did but...well, I hadn’t shown a whole lot of talent for magic before I got here.” Neville said. “My Gran thought I might have been a—well, a squib.”

“What’s that?” 

“Someone from a magical family born without magic,” Neville answered as the two boys rounded a corner. “It’s really hard because some kids get kicked out from their families or treated poorly. I don’t  _ think _ Gran would have kicked me out but, well, some of my family might have wanted too.” Shame colored Neville’s face and he slowed his pace a bit, hand gripping the strap of his bag. 

“Oh—that’s really awful,” Harry thought about it, but he couldn’t imagine being kicked out of a family for being  _ too  _ normal. It went against every sensibility he had. “How did they figure you had magic?”

Neville blushed and mumbled something.

“What was that?”

“I said, my uncle accidentally d-dropped me out a second-floor window and I bounced,” Neville said a bit louder, two bright spots of pink on his face.

Harry and Nyanko both stopped walking to turn and stare at him.

“ _ What _ _?_” Harry hissed. Nyanko’s slitted eyes took on a slightly sharper quality. 

“What?” Neville echoed. 

“He dropped you out a  _ window? How? What?”  _ Harry reached up to pull on his own hair. 

“Yeah, he was holding me outside by my ankle to try and, I don’t know, scare me into doing magic?” Neville reached up to scratch his cheek. “But, well, my Gran walked in suddenly and scared  _ him _ into dropping me. So I guess it’s pretty lucky I’m not a squib?”

Harry continued to stare at him in disbelief. 

“Is this normal for wizards?” Nyanko said blandly.

“That’s not okay,” Harry said. “He was holding you out a window? You could have died!”

Neville shrugged, a twist of the lips alerting Harry to the fact that he was uncomfortable. 

“Well, I guess you don’t get it because you’re not pureblood,” Neville told him, nudging Harry so he would start walking again. They began to shuffle along again, but Harry couldn’t quite get over the horror and disbelief coursing through him. 

“Pureblood?” He inquired anyway, a bit frightened for the answer. 

“Oh, I guess no one’s explained that to you, huh?” Neville said, smiling slightly. “I’ll tell you about it later, it’s a bit complicated.”

“It’s not all that complicated, Longbottom, some people are just born to the  _ right  _ sorts,” a high-pitched voice cut in, and Nevile and Harry both swung around to see Draco flanked by the two large boys Harry had glimpsed briefly on the train. Blaise stood a bit further behind the trio, looking put upon. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, glancing between Neville and the other boy. Neville’s mouth was turned downward.

“Some people think being pureblood, or having only wizarding family, makes you...better,” Neville explained tightly. 

“Not just  _ better _ , Longbottom,” Draco said, nose in the air. “That’s  _ such  _ an oversimplification. Magically purer—everyone knows that the mud—muggleborns are diluting the magical blood.” That didn’t sound quite right to Harry, who knew a bit about geneology from school, but he didn’t necessarily want to get into a fight with the blonde boy either.

“W-we’re just trying to get to c-class, Malfoy,” Neville said, hunching his shoulders a bit. It seemed being around Draco had sucked his usual quiet, supportive demeanor right out of him. He looked like a deflated balloon.

“Yes, well you’ve got to explain things properly to Potter the first time or he’ll be confused.” 

“W-why are we all going by our last names?” Harry interrupted nervously, casting for a change in subject to diffuse the tension. Draco seemed momentarily derailed.

“What? What do you mean?” He paused, then said more venomously, “We’re not  _ friends, _ Potter.” 

“What?” Harry tilted his head, horribly confused. “I know that, but we’re not  _ enemies _ either...or adults. It just sounds weird.” 

Blaise snorted loudly behind the group, then quickly tried to disguise it as a cough. Draco shot him a glare before turning it on Harry.

_ Oh, I guess this isn’t less tense at all,  _ Harry thought.

“We  _ are  _ enemies!” Draco insisted, jabbing a finger at Harry’s chest. “Because of that!”

“Because of what?” Harry looked down. What was on his chest? He stared down at his loose tie, Broadfield’s acorn cap lying just above it, flat against his neck. He looked back up at Draco. “I—I don’t understand. Do you dislike red?”

Draco’s jaw dropped, and Blaise began to cackle.

“Oh my god!” Blaise said. “Draco, you won’t have any luck with this one.” He started laughing again, dramatically wiping faux tears from his eyes. 

Draco collected himself, looking a bit like he wanted to murder Harry, Blaise, and anyone else that might appear within reach of him.

“Just you wait Potter, my  _ father  _ will hear about this,” he spun on his heel and stalked away, clearly seething, and the two big boys followed behind him without a word. Harry watched him go, a bit at a loss. Blaise waved at him before he left, so Harry did the same.

“Th-that was amazing Harry!” Neville said, turning to the dark-haired boy with stars in his eyes.

“I-I don’t understand,” Harry said. “What’s he going to tell his father—did I offend him? What—?” Harry was so confused. He knew he wasn’t precisely friends with the blonde boy, but he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d burned a bridge just then anyway. 

“Honestly, I think that’s the only way he knows how to respond to things,” Neville told him, grabbing Harry’s arm and dragging him in the direction of the classroom. “We used to go to the same pureblood parties my Gran would drag me to, and he just says that whenever he doesn’t know what to do. And Zabini laughs at everything, even when it’s not very funny.” 

Harry nodded, still confused when they finally entered the transfiguration classroom. Most of the class was already seated, and a cat sat licking its paw at the front of the classroom. Neville and he quickly took open seats near the back. 

“Are cats allowed in this one?” Nyanko said, poking his head in when he spotted the cat on the desk. “Not that I’m a cat or something. I just look like one.”

“I guess you can come in?” Harry said, looking at Neville who shrugged. Nyanko trotted in anyway and immediately plopped on Harry's desk, a smug smile planted on his round face. 

Barely a second later the door shut and everyone was left looking around for the professor in confusion.

“This is transfiguration, do—do you think she’s turned herself into a desk?” Neville whispered nervously, eyeing the dominative wooden desk at the front of the room. Harry didn’t get to respond, his eyes catching on the way that light seemed to shimmer and bend around the cat at the front of the room who was looking at them all...a bit too intelligently.

“Neville, do you see the cat on the desk?” He murmured. Neville looked at him, puzzled. 

“What—of course—,” Neville started to say, but he was interrupted by gasps of awe as the cat at the front of the room shifted and blurred until suddenly Professor McGonagall was standing in its place, cocking one eyebrow at her shocked students.

“Good catch, Mr. Potter, in noticing there was something odd about my animagus form,” she said, stern eyes locking onto Harry. “Although, next time you might not want to cut in so close to the beginning of class.” 

He shrunk in his seat and Neville did something similar. 

“Now, let it be understood that my animagus transformation  _ does _ fall under the field of transfiguration, but it is very, very advanced and is not something you will be asked or advised to attempt while you are in this class. Transfiguration is an extremely dangerous and volatile branch of magic, so I asked that you exercise appropriate caution and do not attempt any new transfiguration without appropriate counsel and tutelage,” McGonagall cast a sharp gaze around the room until she was greeted with a few weak nods of understanding. 

“Turning  _ things _ in living animals and back again is particularly ill advised,” the professor went on, turning sharply on the heel of her boot and giving her wand a quick tap on the desk. It immediately transformed into a pig, and one more tap brought it back again. “If performed incorrectly, your object may turn into a twisted, malformed version of the being you were attempting to produce. This is not only a cruel, but unusual punishment for any creature, magicked or otherwise. I must impress this upon you, which is why you will note that your homework for next class will be three feet on the Primary Laws of Transfiguro and Its Applicants.” There was a unanimous groan and the shuffle of papers. Harry noticed Hermione was practically vibrating and almost rolled his eyes. 

“In the meantime, I trust you all have done the reading and feel comfortable enough to start transfiguring a matchstick into a needle,” McGonagall cast a pointed eye all along the class, observing the sheepish stance of many of her students. “I thought so. For those of you who have  _ not  _ had the foresight to crack open the first chapter of your textbooks, take this class time to do so. You will be playing catch-up. Those of you who have, you may come up to the front and take a match.” 

About half the class lined up at the front desk and half stayed in their seats, digging in their bags for their book. Harry joined the line as well, coming up behind Hermione who turned back to him with unbridled glee.

“This is so exciting!” She whispered. “I never thought we’d be starting right away!”

“The line’s moving,” Harry told her, and so it was.

When he reached the front, McGonagall handed Harry a matchstick and nodded to Nyanko who was yawning on Harry’s desk. 

“In the future, Mr. Potter, please leave your familiar outside the classroom, yes?”

“Oh, well, I thought it was okay because I saw the other cat on the desk—um, well I guess it was you really, sort of. I’m sorry,” Harry said quickly, wincing slightly at his mangle of words.

“I understand the confusion,” McGonagall said, her lip quirking slightly. “That’s why you’re not in trouble. Just keep it in mind.” 

Harry nodded vigorously and hurried back to his seat. Neville was pouring over the text with studious ferocity Harry hadn’t seen before. 

“You...alright?” Harry said, eyeing Neville’s strained expression.

“I can’t believe this is the  _ one _ textbook I forgot to read,” he huffed. Nyanko chortled in reply.

Harry placed his matchstick on the desk and drew his wand, feeling the comforting warmth flood up his arm. He knew the theory—have a strong enough vision of the item you want and visualize it transforming, then give the object a quick double tap and you should have a transfigured object. It sounded so deceptively simple that Harry could feel his nerves rearing.

Aunt Petunia sewed sometimes in the winter evenings. She would darn Uncle Vernon’s socks while humming an indistinct tune, firelight casting deep shadows on her sunken face. She taught Harry how, once, when he was 8 years old. Tired of Harry’s complaints about the holes in his hand-me-down clothes, She’d told him, _‘Well,_ _I’m not fixing it for you, so you’ll just have to learn yourself.’ _She’d seated him beside her and let him practice on fabric scraps, displaying a surprising amount of patience as she helped him thread the needle, learn each stitch and where to use them. His Christmas present that year had been a small, cheap, travel sewing kit. It was the most useful thing they’d ever given him. 

With a deep breath, he tried to carefully imagine the needle—the thin length, glittering silver and tapering to a sharp edge. He thought of the small eye, the way the needle dipped in and out of fabric like a dolphin surfacing for air. Harry envisioned the matchstick lengthening, purpose shifting, becoming metal, reflective,  _ different _ . There was a prickle against his finger, like that of a pin, and Harry gave the matchstick a blind double tap with his wand. 

Harry blinked his eyes open to see, not a match, but a perfectly formed needle lying on his desk. 

“Wow…,” Nevile breathed next to him, eyes wide. “Wow! Harry, you got it right away.” 

“Most impressive, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall's thick Scottish brogue rang out across the classroom. Then everyone was staring at Harry and he cringed back. There was the clack of wooden soles on stone and suddenly Professor McGonagall was standing in front of Harry and Neville’s desk, lifting the needle to examine it closer. 

“This is your first attempt?” She asked, lifting one thin eyebrow. It shifted all the lines on her face in an interesting way, and it seemed like an expression she used often.

“Y-yes.” 

“Truly excellent work,” McGonagall poked her own finger with the needle. “A bit dull, but still workable. Have you ever sewn?”

“My-my aunt taught me,” Harry responded. “She thought it would be useful.” 

“She was right, sewing is an advantageous skill for anyone to know. Greater familiarity with a subject is also more likely to result in a successful transfiguration,” the professor agreed. “10 points to Gryffindor. Take the rest of the class to attempt to turn it back.” With that, McGonagall walked brusquely away to correct the set of students sitting a few rows down. 

“I can’t  _ believe  _ you got it right away,” Neville whispered, still flabbergasted. “That’s crazy; you’re probably the only one ever to do that!”

“I doubt that,” Harry said, releasing a tense laugh. He turned back to his needle and felt eyes on him, looking up to see Hermione giving him a disconcerting, annoyed look from her seat. He looked away. 

“She must be mad you got it so easily,” Neville said quietly, noticing as well. 

She was probably more annoyed when, just a few minutes later, Harry was holding a newly returned matchstick in his hand. 

The smell of ozone and the flare of fire lit the dark cupboard of his mind. 

  
  


\- -

Thursday passed uneventfully. That evening Nyanko had him trying to hunt down a paintbrush which proved to be more difficult than it seemed. Most of the first years hadn’t gotten settled enough to start developing their outside hobbies, and all of the upper years just wanted to ask if he remembered Voldemort. Harry thought the question was rather tactless, but people just kept asking.

Eventually, he collapsed on his bed with his face in his pillow. 

“You didn’t even talk to  _ that _ many people!” Nyanko whined.

“I can’t. I’m done being social for the day,” Harry moaned.

Across the room, Dean looked up from where he was curled up on his bed.

“Long day?” He asked.

“I just wanted to find a paintbrush, but no one had any.” 

Dean looked thoughtful for a moment before slipping out of bed and padding to his trunk. Harry sat up as he started to dig through his things.

“Aha!” Dean said, holding up a small tin triumphantly. “Here, there’s a paintbrush in here. Came with my sketch set, but I don’t really paint. You can keep it.” Dean sifted through the inside of the tin until his hand emerged, pinching a small wooden paintbrush. 

Harry jumped to his feet and ran over, “Thanks so much! I didn’t even think to ask my roommates, I’m so stupid…” Harry pressed a hand to his burning cheeks and took the paintbrush. Dean only grinned, his teeth neat and white.

“You’re not. I mean, Seamus is a right bastard half the time and Ron ignores you. We’ve not been a very good group of roommates,” something disappointed drifted across Dean’s face for a second, but it was gone the next. “What are you painting?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Harry said, which was true to an extent. “I just had the urge.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Fine, don’t tell me. But I draw and stuff, so if you want anyone to do art with, then I’m here.”

Harry nodded, thanked him, and retreated to his bed where he drew the curtains shut. 

“Now what do I do?” Harry whispered, conscious that Dean could still hear him.

“We’ll practice the summoning seal,” Nyanko said in a low voice. “Just draw it on scrap paper for now. When you make it on sealing paper, you’ll imbue it with spiritual power which will make it more than just a drawing.” 

“What’s the summoning seal look like?” 

“It’s different for every demon—more symbolic than anything. Mine would be my forehead crest, my name, and three dots underneath it all. There’s variations, but that should work just fine. You’ll be able to summon me to your side from just about anywhere.”

Harry stared at him for a second, then blinked, “You want me to be able to summon you from anywhere? How’s this different from the name thing.”

“As long as you have the seals and the ability to tear them, I will appear, because I know it will be you doing so,” Nyanko said, looking more feral and demonic than he ever had in cat form. “But the summoning is just that: a summons. A pull at the abdomen that I can choose to follow. Powerful demons, such as myself, can deny it.” 

Harry started doodling Nyanko’s crest, glancing up at the cat and back down to his paper.

“Why didn’t we do this with Marionette? We could’ve avoided the whole thing with Broadfield,” he asked absently.

“If you’ll recall, we were asking her to  _ retrieve  _ the sealing paper. Can’t summon without it. Not to mention that summoning is strongly associated with exorcists, which is unpleasant to most.” 

“Oh, right,” Harry said, blushing. “Exorcists are real?”

“Naturally.”

Harry’s pencil stopped moving.

“Does that mean you could be...exorcised?” Harry asked quietly. Nyanko gave him a long, assessing stare. 

“If an exorcist was powerful enough, I suppose they could clear me from an area or seal me in another urn,” Nyanko admitted. Harry nodded, clenching his pencil tight. 

“You _ have  _ to stay,” Harry whispered, emotion thickening his voice. “We made a deal. You can’t get sealed again.”

“I have no plans to be exorcised,” Nyanko said firmly, and Harry found himself drowning in golden eyes. “I will not break our deal.”

“Okay...yeah, okay,” Harry took a deep, steadying breath and continued practicing.

That night before he went to sleep Harry brought out the crumpled family picture he’d taken from the Dursleys. He laid it down and traced the youthful lines of his mother's face, her brilliant green eyes shining from the paper like precious gems. 

\- -

“Potions. I’m rather excited about potions,” Harry commented to Neville as they ate their breakfast on Friday morning. Nyanko had sharp eyes on Harry’s plate, so Harry handed over a sausage.

“I’ve not heard good things about it myself,” Neville said, looking vaguely ill. “I heard Professor Snape  _ hates  _ Gryffindors since he's the head of Slytherin.”

Harry frowned, toying with his eggs, “That doesn’t sound right. Professors should be fair. I hope that’s just a rumor.”

He glanced up to the professor’s table and assessed the adults there.

“Which one’s Professor Snape?” Harry asked. “The one with the beard?” 

Neville stared at him for a long second.

“You’re messing with me right? Oh Merlin, you’re not. The one with the— _ no.  _ Harry that’s the headmaster. Headmaster Dumbledore? From the feast?” 

Harry shrugged. 

“You’re a  _ disaster,  _ Harry,” Neville told him, slumping on his seat.

Harry giggled, which caused Neville to look up at him again with a pleased smile.

“You didn’t answer my question though,” Harry protested.

“I’ll answer if you eat another bite of eggs,” Neville said. “Your eating habits are terrible. My Gran would have a cow if she saw you.”

Harry petulantly shoved a spoonful of eggs into his mouth.

“There you go. Anyway, the one with the greasy black hair is Professor Snape. See? He’s walking out now,” Neville checked his watch. “Suppose we should get going too.”

Harry focused on the billowing black robes of Professor Snape. He certainly looked like an unpleasant man—black, hawkish eyes and a beaky nose. Oily, lank hair hung in waves to his broad shoulders. Harry vaguely recognized him from the feast. 

Owls started swooping in from the upper windows of the Great Hall and suddenly there was a piece of parchment laying in the remnants of Harry’s eggs.

“Mail? For me?” Harry wondered aloud. A tawny owl perched on the edge of the table beside him, looking expectant. 

“I’ll wait for you at the entrance,” Neville said helpfully, shouldering his bag and heading out.

Harry pulled the twine holding the letter closed and carefully unravelled it. It was a hastily scribbled note written in angled, spidery handwriting. 

_ Dear Harry, _

_ I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send an answer back with the school owl. _

_ Hagrid _

A bright smile split across Harry’s face and he quickly dug out a quill to respond that he’d be there. Harry paused a moment to watch the brown owl fly off with his letter before he joined Neville at the entrance to the Great Hall. 

“Good news?” Neville prodded.

“I’ll be meeting Hagrid for tea.”

“Hagrid? The groundskeeper?” Neville asked. “He’s the one who took you to Diagon Alley, right?”

“Right!” Harry confirmed, a bounce in his step. “He’s great! I can’t believe he wants to meet for tea.” 

“Maybe he enjoys your company, Harry,” Neville suggested. 

The two boys made their way down to the dungeons where Potions was being held, Nyanko clinging to Harry’s hair like a limpet. Harry found he didn’t like the way the underground seemed so cold, dingy, and suffocating. Even though the space was much larger, it reminded him of his cupboard.

The Potions classroom itself was also quite dark and unpleasant, with jars lining shelves displaying pickled eyes, swollen toads, and chicken feet. The desks were set up in short rows where students could partner, and each desk had a small cauldron and cutting board laid out. Harry could already see that work would be tight with such little room. 

Worse than that were the slug-like spirits stuck to every surface. They slithered along the blackboard, the desks, the jars, the candelabras...everything. Harry figured correctly that Neville couldn’t see them when he sat down on one, and it emitted a distressed,  _ ‘Eep!’ _

Once they were all settled in their seats, barely a moment passed before the door of the classroom slammed open with a loud bang, sending Harry toppling into Neville who caught him easily. Snape strode to the front of the room, dark robes billowing out behind him in a manner that must have required practice. 

“I will proceed with attendance now,” the professor said, casting a dark-eyed glare around the room as if someone would protest. He read through the class dispassionately until he came to Harry’s name.

“Ah, Harry Potter. Our newest... _ celebrity,”  _ he said, eyes boring a hole into Harry. There were some snickers from a corner of the room Harry could see most of the Slytherins had gathered. 

Harry could feel his excitement for potions trickling away.

Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. It seemed that his face was carved into a permanent scowl, experiencing the world only through a narrow-eyed gaze and lowered brows. 

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potions," he began. His voice was soft, but it commanded the room in a way similar to McGonagall’s brusque tone. The students sat, silent and straight-backed in their wooden chairs. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will  _ really _ understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Silence followed his speech. Snape didn’t seem satisfied.

“Potter!” He barked. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry, who had only read a few chapters into the textbook, knew for certain he did not possess the answer to such a question. Hermione’s hand shot in the air, stiff and proud.

“I-I don’t know, sir,” Harry answered honestly. 

"Tsk,” he sneered. “Fame  _ clearly _ isn't everything." He ignored Hermione's hand. Harry frowned deliberately in her direction, but Snape didn’t seem to catch the hint. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death.”

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

He had a brief recollection of such a thing in one of the many muggle books he’d borrowed from the library of Little Whinging, but he wasn’t sure if the knowledge still applied in the wizarding world. 

“Isn’t that...the cure to all poisons?” He said tentatively, afraid to make eye-contact with the intimidating man. “I don't--I’m afraid I don’t remember where it might be found, though. I’m sorry, sir.” 

Snape paused, an unreadable expression flitting across his face, “Correct, but not the answer to the question you were asked. A bezoar may be found in the stomach of a goat. I see you may have opened at least  _ one  _ book before arriving.” Hermione’s hand was quivering from the strain at this point, and Harry tried shifting and staring at her head. 

_ Am I being targeted?  _ Harry thought.

“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" 

“Th-they’re the s-same plant, sir,” Harry said, certain of his answer but unable to keep his voice from cracking. Everyone in the classroom was staring at him, some in pity and some with smug smiles. Neville pressed into his side.

“Finally, a correct answer,” Snape said, whirling toward the blackboard. “Well? Why aren’t you all writing this down?”

There was a frantic rustle of papers and quills. Hermione’s hand flopped into her lap uselessly. 

Harry gripped his desk hard and worked on his breathing. He hoped every class wouldn’t be like this, because he wasn’t sure he could focus with Snape’s overt malice clouding the room. 

“Today we will be working on a  _ simple  _ cure for boils,” Snape said, chalking directions on to the board with a firm hand. “I expect only one person on every team to get the ingredients. Please read the directions thoroughly  _ before  _ starting on your potions. Ingredients are through here,” Snape gestured to a side cupboard with his wand, and it slid open with a wooden clatter, “and they are organized alphabetically. Now, get started, and remember to ask questions  _ before _ you decide to do something idiotic that might jeopardize the integrity of your potion.” 

“I’ll get the ingredients,” Neville whispered hesitantly. He squeezed Harry’s shoulder briefly before joining the fray of students.

Harry cleared their workspace with shaky arms, sweeping away the spirit-slugs best he could. After a moment, Neville returned with a small wicker basket of ingredients, looking rather ruffled.

“It’s a madhouse,” he complained. “Do you know if you’re any good at potions? I’m miserable. My Gran had me do this one before in tutoring, and I melted the cauldron.”

“I was raised by muggles, so no potions, remember?” Harry said lightly. “I’m good at cooking and baking though, is it similar?”

“Yeah, pretty similar,” Neville said. “Even  _ more  _ precise though.” 

Harry did as the professor asked and skimmed the directions beforehand. He wasn’t sure why the particular amount of stirs and their direction  _ mattered _ , but figured it would be best to simply obey. 

“Dice these, would you?” Harry handed Neville a clump of chamomile root, and, together, they started their potion. 

Barely 40 minutes later they were left staring at a bubbling, fuschia concoction as a frog’s eye slowly melted and dissolved. One of the spirit-slugs tipped itself over the rim and squealed at the heat. 

“I-It’s not the right color,” Neville pointed out. 

“Where did we go wrong?!” Harry asked, flipping through his textbook desperately like it would reveal all the answers. The students around him all had pleasant, purple potions simmering away in varying shades, but they were at least close to correct. No one else had such a pink tone, and Draco’s was almost perfect. The blonde boy kept giving him smug, disdainful looks from across the room and it was beginning to really grate.

“I believe I may have the answer you seek, as the  _ professor _ here,” a cold drawl came from behind the pair. Harry did his best not to jump, but failed.

Snape drifted closer, picking up their ladle and checking the consistency of the liquid. 

“I suppose you used fresh dandelion leaves instead of dried and powdered?” The professor said, raising an eyebrow at them. It wasn’t quite as friendly as when McGonagall did it. 

Harry looked at Neville for an answer since he was the one who retrieved the ingredients. The boy had already turned a similar shade as their potion.

“S-sorry Harry, that was my fault,” Neville said, ducking his head. 

“No, I didn’t notice either.” 

“Yes, you're  _ both  _ dunderheads,” Snape told them, rolling his black eyes. “This mistake will be reflected in your grade. You may turn it in since it’s not a volatile mess—simply an incompetent one.”

Harry sighed, watched as the man drifted back to the front of the room and began calling for a conclusion to the class. Once they were out of the stuffy, fume-ridden room, Harry joined back up with Nyanko who was panting from chasing rats.

“Bad as you thought it might be?” Nyanko inquired, a knowing look in his eye as he trotted beside them.

“ _ Worse _ than we thought.” 

“Agreed,” Neville moaned, pulling on his hair.

“He must really hate me in particular,” Harry said, rushing up the stairs and away from the dungeons.

“I can’t think of why though,” Neville said. “He should be the same age as...both of our parents were when they went to school. He probably knew yours.”

“Maybe he hated my mum.”

“Um, why her?” Neville’s face contorted. 

“He just...I dunno, he wouldn’t be the first,” Harry said, thinking of Aunt Petunia’s vitriol and all of the spirits that didn’t think kindly of Lily Potter. 

“I can’t think of anyone that would hate Mrs. Potter,” Neville said, his face still confused. “Everyone says she was really nice and great. She was a hero, like your dad.”

“Hmmm...you’ll have to tell me what ‘everyone says’ sometime. No one really talks to me about her,” Harry said absently. He didn’t notice the way Neville’s face twisted. “I’m going to head outside and catch some air before I meet Hagrid for tea, then I’ll probably go to the library. See you tonight?” 

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” Neville said, his voice a bit funny. 

“Alright then!” Harry smiled and waved, tucking his messenger under his arm and splitting off.

“You,” Nyanko said, voice flat, ”are more emotionally incompetent than most demons.” 

“What? What did I do?” 

Nyanko only shook his head. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, I hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter. I'm writing this as a crossover with Natsume Yuujinchou, but by no means do you need to know anything about it. Harry is Natsume in this world, so everything will be explained in that context. Note that I'm American and this hasn't been britpicked. I'm hoping to post once a week, but we'll see.
> 
> Please let me know if you see any errors or see suggestions for improvement!


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